Broken Hearts, Shattered Lives
by mistopurr
Summary: When the King of Mirkwood loses his wife, he has to learn to love again before it is too late for his young son.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters that you recognise. Legolas, Thranduil, Elrond and the twins, and anyone else all belong to Tolkien. The only characters I own are those who you don't recognise. This story was written for enjoyment purposes only.

**Warnings: **None really. For once, there is not gonna be a lot of blood and pain and all. Instead its gonna be more emotional than anything else.

**Author's Note: **I'll say my stuff at the end of the chapter!

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'_Nana is dead. She died last week, and today she is going to be put away, where I can't see her any more. I will have to say goodbye to her for the very last time. It will be sad, and I think that I'll cry. But crying isn't bad. She always told me that.'_

The young Prince of Mirkwood closed his eyes tightly, and buried his face deep into the pillows that were still damp from last night's tears. He had to get out of bed and get ready. He knew that, even though no-one had been in to tell him. He had known that his father would stay away, but he at least expected his uncle to come and wake him and help him prepare, or even a servant. But there was no-one. He was alone.

'_I am alone, and Ada is alone. We are both alone,' _Legolas thought sadly. _'But he won't come to me. And he won't let me go to him.'_

Exhaling shakily, the Prince raised his head and gazed around the room, searching for the new clothes that had been lain out for him by the servants last night. Ah, there they were, folded up on a chair. But they were so strange, so different to what he was used to wearing. Silver and shiny, shimmering as the sun through the window caught the silky material. He hated them.

'_The Sun is shining. That means that She is happy, or so Nana used to say,' _Legolas thought, as he pushed back the coverlet and got slowly out of bed. _'How can She be so happy when this is such a sad time?'_

There was a round table in the right corner of his room, and he made his way silently across to it, so that he could wash his face in the silver basin that sat there. He hoped that the water would be cold today. Maybe having the icy splash of it on his skin would shock him into realising that today really was happening. For he still found it hard to believe, so hard.

"It isn't fair!" he suddenly spat, flicking his hand into the bowl and splashing water over the rim. "Why did she have to be attacked? Why did the Orcs have to touch her with their dirty black hands, and why wasn't anyone there to save her, and why did-

"Legolas…"

The Prince turned, startled, and gazed up at the newcomer in surprise. "I didn't hear you open the door."

"No, you seemed preoccupied. But it matters not." The Elf paused as he came into the room and gently closed the door. "How do you feel, pen-neth?"

Legolas shook his head slowly, helplessly. "I don't know. Scared, sad. I miss Nana. And I want to see Ada."

Lord Círhael nodded, but said nothing. He could identify with his nephew's pain, but speaking of it only made him feel worse. His sister, the Queen, had been much more than a sister. She had been a friend, and he knew that never in the rest of his immortal life would he find another like her. She had been a gift, both to him and the rest of the world. And now she was gone.

"Uncle?"

"Forgive me," Círhael muttered, shaking his head. "I was thinking."

"About Nana," Legolas said softly.

The elder Elf smiled weakly, and busied himself with picking up toys and clothes from the floor. "What else? Come now, get dressed. I know you want to put it off. But today is going to happen. Nothing will change that."

Legolas shrugged off his night tunic, and slowly began dressing himself in the clothes that he would wear for his mother's burial. They felt horrible. "I don't like these," he sighed. "I don't want to wear them."

"At any other time, you would make no complaint," Círhael replied. "It is because you know what they have been made for. You know that they are for this day, and that makes you bitter."

The Elfling made a non-committal noise as he did up the clasps on his tunic. "I miss Nana, but…I miss Ada too. I know that he hasn't gone with her, but it seems like he has."

"Do not say that," Círhael said sharply. "Death is no light matter."

"I know, and I didn't mean it like you think I did," the Prince replied. "What I meant is that Ada hasn't spoken to me for two days now. He doesn't even look at me if we pass each other, and he doesn't come to meals any more. He hasn't come to say goodnight to me like he used to when I go to bed. Only you do it now. Not that I mind, but I just…well…"

"I know." Círhael was silent as he smoothed a slight crease in his dark robes, but then he looked up and smiled briefly. "Legolas, the passing of your mother has greatly affected your father. It is important that you are aware of this. But it is even more important to know that he loves you very much, and nothing will change that."

"I have tried to be a good Elfling for him since it happened," the Prince whispered, swiping at his glistening eyes. "But it's so hard when I want to go to him, and have him hold me tight, when all he does is push me away. I've already lost Nana, and I don't want to lose-

The door swung open. Legolas spun on his heel, and Círhael closed his eyes briefly, hoping against hope that his nephew's words has not been heard from outside. For it was the Elven-king of Mirkwood who stood in the doorway, his face fair, yet expressionless, masked by an impenetrable coldness; and his steely eyes glittering with emotions that were far too tumultuous to even be guessed at.

"Thranduil, we did not expect to see you until the…well, until later," Círhael said.

"No. That does not surprise me." The King flicked his gaze up to meet that of his brother-in-law, and inclined his head. "Forgive me if I am interrupting anything, but I must speak with my son."

Círhael glanced down at his nephew, sighing inwardly at the smile that had suddenly graced the previously sad features. The only thing that Legolas had heard was that his father wanted to speak to him. Those words were all that mattered. If he had caught the cool tone of the King's voice, it clearly meant nothing to him, and was not enough to dispel the brief moment of joy that had been felt.

"Of course," the Elf-lord replied. "I will be outside."

"No, stay. It will not take long," Thranduil said. He glanced at his son, and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why do you just stand there, Legolas? Braid your hair. You should have already done it."

"But I…" The Prince's smile faded, and his gaze was uncertain. "I thought you wanted to talk to me, Ada."

"Just braid your hair, pen-neth," Círhael said quickly.

Legolas looked up at his father, searching the once soft eyes for answers. But there were none. Nodding once, he turned away and began brushing his golden hair, all the while biting hard on his lip to try and prevent tears from gathering. Behind him, Thranduil stood in silence, gazing at the opposite wall, yet fully aware that his brother-in-law was watching him closely.

"Whatever you have to say," he murmured, "can wait."

"It will," Círhael replied, his voice equally soft. "However, I would advise you to process the thoughts that are in your mind before speaking them."

"And why would I not?" Thranduil questioned. "Do not treat me like a child."

"Would I?" Círhael moved closer to the King, turning slightly to hide their conversation. "No, I am trying to protect your son. Your absence these last few days has hurt him enough, and I cannot see you amending that mistake, not today. You-

The two Elves turned quickly, as a clatter sounded from just behind them. Legolas' hairbrush lay on the floor, where it had been flung by him in a sudden moment of grief. It mattered not that his father and uncle had tried to conceal their words, for his Elven ears had caught everything. The angry tones hurt him inside, and all he wanted was for them to disappear, and be replaced by ones of care and love.

"I told you to braid your hair," Thranduil said sharply.

"I can't," the Elfling whispered. "I tried, but…but…"

"His hands," Círhael murmured. "They are shaking. No wonder he had trouble."

The King closed his eyes, and shook his head in annoyance. "Then, leave your hair loose if you are incapable of doing anything else with it."

Legolas lowered his gaze to the floor, his eyes beginning to sting. "Yes Ada," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Look at me," Thranduil said softly. He received no answer. Taking a step forwards, he reached down and turned his child's face so that their eyes met. Tears fell onto his fingers, but he did not withdraw his hand. "Legolas, you must not-

"Don't!" Círhael snapped.

The Elven-king ignored his brother-in-law, and knelt down so that he was at eye level with his son. "Legolas, I know that you are hurting. But you must not shed tears outside these walls. I cannot let you."

"I can't cry for Nana?" the Prince whispered. "But why…?"

"There are expectations of us. Our people look to us for strength, and we will give it to them," Thranduil said firmly. "So, pull yourself together, and stop those tears. You _will_ meet the expectations."

"But-

"But nothing," Thranduil cut in. Withdrawing his hand, he stood, but did not drop his son's gaze. "Do not let me down, Legolas."

And then with not another word, the Elven-king turned, and left. Círhael stared at his nephew for a moment, almost as stunned as he, before snapping back into reality, and leaving the room swiftly. He was fully prepared to stop his brother-in-law and tell him exactly what he thought of all that had transpired, but his words fell dead.

"Thranduil…"

The long robes that the King wore were not enough to hide the trembling of his body as he leant against the wall, using it as a support. "No father," he said softly, "should ever speak such words. And no child should ever hear them."

"But you did speak them," Círhael said, taking a step forwards. "And Legolas heard them."

"I know. It was the last thing that I wanted to say, but…"

"Then, why?"

Thranduil turned to face the other Elf, and shook his head slowly. "Ithilwen's death has affected us all. My way of coping with it has been isolation, but it should not have been so. Legolas needs me, and I have been neglecting him."

"This blame will not help you," Círhael sighed.

"Maybe. But I went in there with every intention of telling my son that I love him with all of my heart, and he will never have to feel alone again," Thranduil hissed. "But I could not. I was sharp with him, and I told him not to…I just don't know why. I don't understand why I feel like this."

Both Elves were silent as they tried to control their thoughts, thoughts which spun wildly in their minds, making no sense as they tripped over their fellows. Thranduil lowered his grief-filled eyes to the floor, but Círhael stared into his brother-in-law's face, searching for answers to unasked questions, and clues to unsolved mysteries. And there were many of them.

"I know how Ithilwen died. Orcs stole her life," he said eventually. "But I think there is something else, something that you are hiding, and something that is heightening your grief. Will you not tell me? Do I not have the right to know?"

Thranduil nodded once, but said nothing. No, he could not deny that Círhael had the right to such knowledge, but it would be hard, so hard to tell him. Reliving the nightmare, hearing his wife screaming his name once more, and again feeling the cruel claws digging into his body and pulling at his hair as he tried to reach his beloved, would hurt so much. But he knew that he had to. There was no choice.

"Tell me, and maybe I can help you," Círhael said softly.

The Elven-king opened his mouth to begin his story of grief and guilt, but even before he began speaking, the door to his son's rooms opened. Legolas came out into the corridor and stood beside his uncle, but gazed up at his father. His eyes still shone, but the tear lines had been washed from his face, and no more fell.

"Ada, I have braided my hair," he said. "It isn't very tidy, because my hands were still shaking when I did it. But I tried, and I can't do any more than try, so I hope it pleases you. And as for my crying…I _won't _cry. Not any more, not if it makes you unhappy."

Thranduil stared at his son in wonder, mind spinning as he sought the right words. He knew what he had to say, what he _should _say. He should assure the child that tears did not anger him – despite his earlier words – and that he should not be afraid to cry. He wanted to say that, he really did, but again, he found that he was unable to, stopped by his guilt and grief.

'_Say something!' _Círhael thought desperately. _'Say what you want to; do not throw this chance away…'_

"Ada?"

"I…" Thranduil shook himself mentally, and nodded once. "Well, that is good. I am glad to hear it."

'_For the love of the Valar, why?' _Círhael asked silently.

"I must leave you now," the King said, tearing his gaze from the pained look on his son's face. "But I believe it is an hour or so before the service starts, so you have time for breakfast, Legolas."

As his father turned and walked away, the Prince closed his eyes tightly. Breakfast? How could he possibly eat at a time like this? Exhaling deeply, he made to go back into his own room, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up into his uncle's sad face, and shook his head. He didn't know what to say, what to do.

"I am so sorry," Círhael murmured. "I am sorry for…"

"Not your fault," Legolas choked out. "But I don't understand. Nana always told me that tears are good, not bad. So did Ada. But now he is telling me not to cry. Why? I want to, Uncle, because…because I just do. But I don't want to make him angry."

Círhael wrapped an arm around the Elfling's shoulders, and pulled him close. "I know that. Now, if you want to cry, then you cry. Believe me when I say that your father did not mean what he said."

"Are you sure?" Legolas asked uncertainly. "Then, why did he…"

"Because his grief is making him say and do things that he does not mean," Círhael replied. "I know what he said to you. But I also know that he hates himself for saying it. Trust me, pen-neth."

"I…I trust you," Legolas replied. "But do you promise me that it will be alright to cry when I say goodbye to Nana? Because if it isn't, then I-

"Stop this," Círhael cut in. He knelt, and gazed into the child's silver eyes. "I promise you. Trust me."

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Right, first of all can I apologise for the delay in getting something posted! It's just that, I started writing something, and I got about ten chapters done, but then I got an awful writer's block, and I couldn't write anything for about two weeks. This idea was stored away in my mind, and because it's gonna be quite a short story (about 20 chapters) I thought that if I made a start on it, I'd have something to give you all. That aside, I've had so much work with college it isn't even funny, and I've been touring Cornwall in a play, and I've had various problems with boyfriends (who needs them!) so that's that.

Secondly, I want to thank everyone who reviewed 'Fallen Angels'. You made me very happy!

Thirdly…actually, I have to go. I have to get a train in half an hour, because I'm going to my friend's place tonight. Updates are gonna be about every three days or so, depending on how much work I have.

It's great to be back!

Misto

x-x


	2. Chapter 2

Over an hour later, as he listened to prayers being murmured over his mother's body, Legolas could not help but gaze around at the large congregation who had gathered for the Queen's burial service. Never had he seen so many Elves all in one place, just for one thing; but that made him smile more than anything – the great numbers showed just how much Ithilwen had been loved.

Mirkwood Elves stood watching the proceedings, some staring silently, others softly weeping for their loss. Advisors to the King, and warriors of the realm had dropped all pretences of strength, and without shame, allowed their tears to fall. Servants from the palace had even forsaken their various chores, so that they could come and say their final farewells to their beloved Queen.

Opposite the wood-elves stood hosts from Rivendell and Lothlorien who had willingly agreed to make the long and dangerous journey to Mirkwood, to offer their condolences and pay their respects. The young Prince noticed especially Lady Galadriel and the Lords Elrond and Celeborn standing at the side of the dais with the twins and Arwen; and he smiled sadly. On any other occasion, he would have been ecstatic to see them all. Not this time.

'_I have never been so sad,' _he thought. _'Never in my whole life have I wanted to cry as much as I do now. But I can't. I won't.'_

He glanced up at his father who stood beside him, and sighed inwardly. There was no reassuring smile, no comforting hand to his shoulder. But had he expected any? No, not at all. But it still hurt. The fact that Thranduil could just stand there and not even acknowledge his grieving child only intensified Legolas' pain. He closed his eyes, and turned away.

'_Why, Ada?' _he asked silently. _'What has happened to you? Why have you become so different? Uncle Círhael said that you still love me. I believe him, but why can't you show it?'_

Legolas looked to his right where Círhael stood watching the proceedings through eyes that shone with unshed tears. His fists were clenched inside the sleeves of his dark robes, and as he bit down hard on his lower lip, the young Prince realised that he was hurting just as much as anyone else, and that he was another who had to keep up appearances, and show false strength before the people of Mirkwood.

"Uncle…" Legolas whispered, reaching up and slipping his small hand into Círhael's.

The Elf-lord looked down and nodded, smiling gently to try and reassure his nephew that all was well. And as he gazed into the silver eyes, he wondered vaguely what would have happened if Legolas had tried to take Thranduil's hand. Would the King have found comfort in the contact? Would he have pulled away, and shot his child a cold glare? Or would he have even noticed?

As he wondered, nails were suddenly dug deep into the palm of his hand, and he snapped his eyes up in surprise. One glance was enough to explain Legolas' distress: four soldiers had gone forwards to the dais, and were lifting Queen Ithilwen's bier from where it lay on the altar. This was it. She was finally going to be laid to rest.

Legolas shook his head slowly, his eyes filling with hot tears. "Don't…"

"Hush, child," Círhael murmured.

"Don't let them take her," the Prince whispered. "Please don't. I want her to stay. Please…"

"I know, I know. But I cannot, and I will not stop this. We both knew that this would happen," Círhael said softly. "Be strong, pen-neth."

Alerted by the whisperings of his son and brother-in-law, Thranduil turned to glare at them, his eyes flashing. "Stop this, Legolas," he hissed. "I will not have you making a scene."

"But Ada-

"Silence! You are only embarrassing yourself," the Elven-king snapped.

Legolas closed his eyes, but that did not prevent tears falling from under his lashes. He could not do it. He had believed that he would be able to hide his grief just like his father wanted him to, but…he just couldn't. Exhaling shakily, he looked up, and what he saw nearly made him cry out – his mother's bier was before him, so close that if he wanted to, he could reach up and touch her face.

"Namarië, gwathel-nín," Círhael murmured.

"Nana…"

As the soldiers continued their slow journey, Legolas shook his head. No! This couldn't be happening; they couldn't be taking his mother away. He needed her, he loved her. Choking back a sob, he tried to run forwards. To stop the inevitable? Maybe. But Círhael grabbed his hand again, and pulled him back. No, why was he being stopped?

"Let me go!" Legolas cried, trying hard to jerk himself free. "Let me go, I want Nana! Please…"

Aware of the many Elves watching sympathetically, Círhael reached down and lifted his nephew into his arms. He said nothing, not trusting his own voice; and as he stroked the golden hair, trying to offer at least _some _comfort to the child who sobbed into his shoulder, he could feel the trembling of the small body against his own. The Elfling's grief hurt his very heart, and knowing there was nothing he could do to ease the pain hurt even more.

Thranduil stood beside his brother-in-law, watching the scene through narrowed eyes, his face coldly impassive. But inside, inside he was crying, screaming. _He _wanted to hold his child; _he_ wanted to be the one to offer comfort. But no, he could not. And why was that? He didn't know. He could not answer his own questions. He just wished that he could go back in time and change things, change everything.

'_Legolas, I am so sorry,' _he thought helplessly. _'I do not mean any of this. I only hope that you know it.'_

"Uncle, I want to…" The Prince closed his eyes tightly, and tangled his hand in the fair hair that lay over Círhael's shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he began again. "I want to go back to the palace. Will you take me back, please?"

"No."

Legolas looked up in surprise – the voice had not been his uncle's. "Ada, please let me-

"No, I did not mean _that_," Thranduil cut in. "I will take you home."

"Oh." Legolas raised both hands, and swiped quickly at his eyes. "Thank you."

Círhael was still for a moment as he debated with himself. He could not, _would_ not, let the child leave if there was a risk of further pain – unintentional, but pain nonetheless – being caused to him by harsh words or icy glares. He locked his green eyes onto Thranduil's, searching the blue depths for reassurance that his nephew would be safe. What he found there was grief, mixed with fear and hope. That was enough for him. Nodding, he lowered the Prince to the floor, and smiled gently.

"Go with your father, Legolas," he said softly.

Thranduil hesitated a few seconds, before reaching down and taking his son's hand. Then raising his eyes, he inclined his head, and mouthed, "Thank you."

"Hmm." As his brother-in-law turned to leave, Círhael touched a hand to his shoulder, halting him. "Do not let this chance go by," he said seriously.

"I know," Thranduil murmured.

"Ada…"

The King nodded at his son, and as the two left the mourning hall, and other Elves began to move away in solemn groups, Círhael let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking the moment to gather his thoughts, and calm himself. He reopened them a second later to find that Lord Elrond had made his way over, and was watching in concerned silence.

"Forgive me," he said with a weak smile. "I was caught up in my thoughts."

"It is to be expected on a day like this," the Rivendell Elf replied. "How are you, mellon-nin?"

"I? Well, I am…trying to cope with my sister's death in the best way that I can. I have accepted that she is no longer amongst us, though that does not lessen the pain," Círhael said slowly. "And if I am honest, matters are not…well…"

Elrond sighed, and touched a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Let us speak of this elsewhere. The gardens, maybe? They will be peaceful."

The two Elf-lords left the hall in silence, both content for the moment to contemplate their thoughts. And as they walked, Elrond could not help but think of his beloved Celebrían who awaited him in the West. Orcs…the gaze of just one of the creatures was poisonous, and everything that they touched, they destroyed. His wife may not have died, but she had still been taken from he and their children, and now the Mirkwood Royals had lost Ithilwen.

'_It is a tragedy I would wish on no-one,' _he thought grimly.

"Here," Círhael said suddenly, gesturing to a bench under the shade of a beech tree. "Let us sit here and talk."

"Something troubles you," Elrond said slowly.

"Yes, something does." The fair haired Elf was silent for a moment, but then he looked up, and shook his head sadly. "It is my brother-in-law. Ithilwen's death has changed him."

"Changed, you say?" Elrond asked.

"Yes. Surely you saw what took place with him and Legolas," Círhael replied. "He has been that way since Ithilwen left us."

"Grief affects us all in different ways," the Peredhil replied.

Círhael inclined his head, though he did not seem convinced. "That may be so. But he is hurting his son. That poor child is suffering so much, and nothing I say or do can ease his pain."

"Thranduil would never intentionally hurt Legolas," Elrond said quickly.

"I know that, of course I do," Círhael answered. "But do you know what makes matters even worse? It is the fact that Thranduil is aware of what he does; he knows how Legolas is being affected. But he can do nothing about it. He wants to, Valar knows how much he wants to change things. But for some reason which is hidden from my eyes, he cannot. And he hates himself for that."

Elrond watched as a bird hopped around the bench, and shook his head slowly. "Cannot? Where does this 'cannot' come from?"

"Like I said, the reason is hidden from my eyes. And that is why I am telling you this," Círhael replied. "I need your help. Both of us, together, have to help Thranduil. We were his friends before this tragedy, and if his friends cannot bring him back, who can?"

"What of Legolas?" Elrond asked.

"I see in his eyes that he is beginning to doubt his father's love for him," the Mirkwood Elf sighed. "And that does not surprise me. He said to me this morning: 'I have already lost Nana, and I don't want to lose Ada.' He really is hurting."

"You let him go with Thranduil back to the palace," Elrond said. "Why? Did you believe that mistakes would be amended?"

Círhael was silent for a moment, but then he shook his head once. "No, I hoped, and I still do. But it is a slim hope, a very slim hope indeed."

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As Thranduil led his son through the royal corridors, his heart pounded painfully against his chest. He had to say something, anything. The silence that hung in the air was almost deafening, oppressive and heavy. But what could he say? Oh, there was plenty, he knew that, and he also knew what he _should_ say. It was just…speaking the words out loud was apparently not a possible thing.

'_I have to apologise,' _he thought. _'That is always a hard thing to do. But I know that I am in the wrong, and Legolas needs to be told how sorry I really am. But damn it! Why? Why can I not tell him? Valar, help me understand. Give me strength to-_

"Ada…"

Thranduil looked down, and noted with vague surprise that they had reached the door to his son's room. How funny that time had flown so swiftly. But that was what happened when one became caught up in thoughts both desperate and helpless, and was swept away by them. Thoughts had the power of doing that. They were strong, stronger even than whoever might own them, and it was with a vicious cruelty that they used that, dragging their owner into black tunnels of despair, deep pits of fear.

Shaking himself mentally, the Elven-king pushed open the door, and nudged his son forwards. "Go, then."

"Thank you for bringing me back here, Ada," Legolas said softly. "You didn't have to. You could have stayed to talk with Lord Elrond or Lord Celeborn."

"With you sobbing in the background?" Thranduil asked. "I think not. Conversation would have been impossible."

The Prince snapped his eyes up, unable to stop himself from drawing in a sharp breath. It had not been the actual words that had shocked him so – though to claim that they had not contributed would be a lie. Instead, it had been the tone used. Never in his life had he been spoken to like that, and to hear such derision creep into his beloved father's voice was not merely emotionally painful – it physically hurt.

"And that leads on to what I wish to discuss with you," Thranduil continued. He paused, and flicked his wrist at a chair beside his son's desk. "Sit."

"Yes."

The Elven-king was silent for a moment, already cursing himself for what he was about to do. But he pressed on with what he wanted – no, what his confused mind wanted him – to do. "What did I tell you this morning, Legolas?" he asked.

"You told me that I was not allowed to cry for Nana," the Elfling replied slowly. "You said: 'There are expectations of us. Our people look to us for strength, and we will give it to them. So pull yourself together, and stop those tears. You _will _meet the expectations."

"Insolent child," Thranduil hissed.

"You asked me a question, and I gave you the best answer that I could," Legolas said softly. "If that upset you, I am sorry."

The King hesitated, but then he shook his head. "No, I will not deny that you gave me the best possible answer. However, you have just walked into a trap by doing so."

"I…I don't understand."

"You have just confirmed that you knew _exactly_ what was required of you. You were fully aware of my wishes," Thranduil replied. "But clearly they meant nothing to you, for you ignored them. Was it on purpose? I wonder."

"No!" Legolas cried. "It wasn't on purpose, Ada. Please don't think that it was."

'_I don't,' _Thranduil replied silently.

"I tried to stop myself from crying. I tried so hard, but the tears just…just came." The Prince jumped down from the chair, and went to stand in front of his father, eyes flashing in desperation. "Please believe that I didn't do it to make you angry. I would never-

"I know," Thranduil cut in. "Just stop, Legolas. Stop."

The child closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled deeply. "I didn't mean to disappoint you."

Nodding once, the elder Elf turned away, and stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. "There is a feast being held tonight to celebrate your mother's life. It will not be a sad occasion like this morning's service. There will be dancing and singing, and much food on the tables."

"I know," Legolas said softly. "But…why?"

"Elaborate," Thranduil sighed.

"You said that it won't be sad, and that there will be dancing and singing. But Nana going away is a _very_ sad thing, so why are we having a feast?" Legolas asked.

"It is a celebration of her life, as I said, not a time for grieving her death," Thranduil replied. "She would have preferred it this way."

"Oh."

The King closed his eyes and dug his nails into the palm of his hand, not noticing even as the skin broke. "But you…you will not be attending. You will stay in here, or in our private rooms."

"You won't let me go!" Legolas gasped.

"You lost control this morning, and I cannot have that happening again," Thranduil said quietly. "Do not argue with me over this. My word is final."

The young Prince was still for a moment, but then he went forwards and grabbed his father's hand. "Please don't…Ada! You're bleeding!"

"What?" Thranduil glanced down, and smiled vaguely at the crimson stain on his pale skin. How funny that he had failed to notice it. "Oh, I see. It is nothing. Worry not for me."

"I will," Legolas snapped, taking the King by the wrist and pulling him over to the bed. "Sit down, so that I can make you better."

Thranduil was too amazed to tell his son just how foolish he was being. "Please, do not fuss. I cannot even feel it" he managed to say eventually. "I have suffered much worse than this in battle, believe me"

"I do. But I don't care," Legolas replied firmly. "You're my Ada, and you're hurt. I don't want to see you hurting. I…I love you too much."

His cheeks flushed a bright pink, the child spun on his heel and ran into the adjoining room without another glance at his father. The King sat in stunned silence, running the words over and over again in his mind. _I love you too much. I love you too much. _Ai, that hurt. That Legolas could admit such a feeling after the treatment he had been given since Ithilwen's death was astounding. And it only intensified Thranduil's guilt.

'_I love you too, ion-nin,' _he thought. _'I really do, more than you can know.'_

The door opened, jerking him from a reverie that had been far from peaceful; and Legolas re-entered the room, carrying a damp towel in his hands. He went straight over to the bed and sat beside the King, unable to blink away the worry that he knew lingered in his eyes. But as far as he was concerned, his fear was perfectly acceptable. It had only been a week, after all, since his mother had died, so there was _nothing_ wrong at all with wanting to make sure that his father was well.

"There is only water on this towel," he said. "If your hand hurts a lot, I can go to the healers and get some medicine."

"I do not think that will be necessary," Thranduil replied.

"Good. Now, give me your hand," Legolas instructed.

The Elven-king was still for a moment, before shaking his head in a mix of irritation and amazement, and pulling back the sleeve of his robes. "There. Heal away to your heart's content."

"Ada, please don't make fun of me," Legolas sighed, as he dabbed gently at the torn skin. "I only want to help you. I know that this wound isn't serious, and that you've had much worse in battle, but that doesn't make any difference to me. Blood means pain, and I hate to think that you are hurting – even if it is only a little bit. But if you think that what I'm doing is stupid, I will stop. I don't want you to think even worse of me."

As the Elfling moved away, Thranduil reached out and caught his wrist. "No, carry on. You speak the truth: it does sting slightly. And…I do not think that what you are doing is stupid. If you care for someone, concern is natural."

"And if you love someone?" Legolas asked softly.

"Even more so."

The Prince nodded, and continued to gently dab at the wound. "Ada, may I go to the library later? If I am not going to the feast, I will need something to do for the evening, won't I?"

'_Ai, that hurt,' _Thranduil thought bitterly.

"I haven't got any books to read at the moment, so I can get a new one. Except, it will have to be an easy to read, because I only get difficult ones when there is someone who can help me to understand them, so-

"You have been helpful," the King cut in, nodding towards his hand. "I think it is only fair that you are given some reward for the aid you have offered. I will take back what I said about not allowing you to attend tonight's feast."

"I can go?" Legolas asked in surprise. "Thank you, Ada."

Thranduil nodded once, but said nothing. _'Do not thank me,' _he thought. _'I chose the easy way out. If I was a better Elf, I would have taken back my words, added an apology, and not used your help as a cover. But I did. And what does that say about me? I am weak, and I-_

"You were worried that I might lose control at the feast, and that's why you didn't want me to go," Legolas said. "I just want you to know that this time I really won't let you down. I will be happy, and I will talk about happy things. I promise, Ada."

"Then I will hold you to that," Thranduil murmured.

Legolas nodded, and glanced down at his father's hand. "There is no more blood. Does it still hurt?"

"No."

"Good."

Silence fell. The two looked away from each other, neither of them failing to notice the sudden awkwardness and discomfort that reigned. Thranduil fiddled absently with the sleeves of his robes, moving the silky material so that it slipped coolly through his fingers, shimmering slightly as it caught the light. Legolas watched from the corner of his eyes as he softly drummed his feet against the side of his wooden desk.

"Must you do that?"

"Sorry." The Prince paused, and nodded at his bed. "Ada, I'm tired. I think I might try and sleep before the feast."

That was nearly enough to make Thranduil laugh. He, the King of Mirkwood, had just been dismissed by a child. And not just any child. His own son! There were very few indeed who were brave enough to even _attempt_ that. Yes, it really was laughable. But he said nothing as he nodded, and got to his feet.

"Goodbye," Legolas said softly.

"Yes. I am sure that Círhael will be along later to prepare you for the feast," Thranduil replied.

"Yes, but…you could…well, you could help me instead," the Elfling muttered, staring at his hands as he waited for an answer.

The Elven-king was silent for a moment, but then he inclined his head briefly, and said: "I could, yes. If I have time, I will. And if not, Círhael will help you to get ready."

As his father left, Legolas laughed softly, bitterly. "You will have time, Ada," he murmured to the empty room. "But you won't give any of it to me. You won't come. I know it."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**MCross: **Yeah, I think that a big hug would make them all feel better!

**Lombadia Greenleaf: **Hehe, sorry about the delay! I toured with a play called 'Headland'. You won't have heard of it because it was written by the director. But it's really good. All about this man who committed suicide. I'm going to a cast party tomorrow, and we're going to be given awards for it. Fun!

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **Yep, it's been a while, but hopefully this story makes up for it.

**Elven Kitten: **Hehe, they all deserve hugs!

**Kelsey Estel: **Thank you! It's really nice to hear that you like the way I write Thranduil! Yes, he was there when Ithilwen died, but I won't say much more than that, because you'll find out later on in the story.

**Utsuri: **Hehe. You'll have to wait and see!

**SivanShemesh: **Oh yes, there's definitely gonna be more of this!

**Jedi Gollum: **Yeah, the twins will be in it, but probably not as much as they have been in past stories. No, Calaen and Airëlus aren't in this (I think they've both been put through enough!). Legolas is an only child in this one.

**Rutu: **Yeah, Círhael helps a lot. Yay for nice people like him!

**Legolas-gurl88: **Yeah, exclamation marks are fun! I think I read your latest chapter of SOM…did I? Or am I just imagining things again. Maybe. It wouldn't surprise me!

**Kel, Swasti and Coolio02: **Yep, I think we'll be hearing that phrase quite a lot!

Yeah, I know I said that updates would be every three days, but I'm going to a cast party tomorrow with my theatre group, and then I'll be staying with a friend, so I thought that I'd update a day early rather than a day later.

Hope you all enjoy!

Misto

x-x


	3. Chapter 3

As a servant stepped forwards to remove his plate, Legolas curled his fingers around his cup, pulling it to the edge of the table. But he did not drink from it. Instead, he gazed silently down into the deep red cordial which was held within. His silver eyes were reflected, glittering eerily as the liquid danced in slow and solemn circles, almost in time, it seemed, with the gentle tune that the minstrels had just struck up.

He had spent the whole evening with a smile fixed on his face as he made conversation with Círhael, who sat on his left side, and the other Elven lords and ladies who had places at the high table. He had made sure that the smile did not slip, for his father sat on his right side; and though he spoke few words, the King's presence there was enough to remind the child of the promise that he had made. Though, he doubted very much that he would easily forget.

And so, whilst Thranduil held a conversation with Lord Celeborn, Legolas was able to relax, calmed by the knowledge that he was no longer under the critical – or so he thought it was – gaze of his father. He took the opportunity to allow the fixed smile to fade. It felt wonderful, but…that confused him. Why did he feel as though a great weight had suddenly been lifted?

'_Because my smile isn't real,' _he answered himself silently. _'I have been pretending for so long, and it is so hard. I wonder if I will have to do it all night.'_

Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes, hoping to take the solitary time to contemplate, and reflect on all that had happened in the past week. But hardly a second had gone by when he felt someone's gaze resting on him. He snapped his eyes open once more and glanced quickly at his father. But it was not Thranduil – he was still speaking with Celeborn.

"Careful," Círhael murmured, nudging his nephew gently. "If that cordial spills, I fear that you will have to assist in clearing it up. The poor servants are rushed off their feet."

Legolas smiled, and pushed the cup away. "If it had spilled, it would have been your fault also. You nudged me."

"So I did," Círhael agreed. He paused, and glanced at the main floor, where Elves were beginning to rise. "Have you seen what is happening?"

"Yes, the tables are being moved so that we can dance," Legolas replied.

"And will you partake in any of the dancing or singing?"

The Prince made a face, and shook his head violently. "No! I don't dance. I can't. I would only make myself look stupid. And I don't really feel like singing. Not tonight."

"Oh, I understand that," Círhael nodded. "But what will you do if a lovely maiden should ask for your hand?"

"She will have to find someone else," Legolas replied. "And besides, no-one will dance with me. There are no other Elflings here, only grown Elves. I think I am too small. If anyone _did_ want to dance with me, they would have to kneel down so that they could be my height. _That_ would look stupid."

"I cannot argue with that," Círhael laughed.

"Will you dance?" Legolas asked.

The Elf-lord sighed, but nodded all the same. "I may not wish to, but if asked, it would be impolite to refuse. And besides, unlike you, I cannot claim to be too small."

"You could, but it wouldn't work," the Prince replied. He paused, and gazed out at the main floor, scanning the groups of Elves for two familiar dark heads. A vague smile graced his features as he found them. "Uncle, Elladan and Elrohir are over there. Can I go to see them? I haven't spoken to them yet, because they were at the other end of the table."

"Ask your father's permission," Círhael answered.

Suppressing a sigh, Legolas turned in his seat, and rested his hand on the table top. He held it there for a moment, before shifting slightly so that his finger's brushed against the King's robes. Thranduil glanced away from Celeborn and looked down into his son's eyes, delicately arching an eyebrow to silently ask what was wanted of him.

"Sorry to interrupt you," Legolas said, "but may I please leave the table to go and see Elladan and Elrohir?"

Thranduil flicked his gaze over to where the twins stood, and nodded once. "Do not leave this hall."

"I won't," Legolas replied.

That said, the child stood, and left the high table quickly. It was not that he particularly disliked sitting there, he reflected as he made his way across to his friends. It was just that, at great feasts like this one, when there were lots of Elves gathered, he always felt as though hundreds of eyes were fixed upon him. And he hated being watched, especially by so many. Now that he was grieving, it felt horrible, suffocating. He just had to escape.

As the twins came into sight, his face lit up, and he called: "Elladan! Elrohir!"

The two dark haired Elves turned sharply, and as their eyes fell on the Prince coming towards them, they smiled in delight. Neither had seen their young friend for many months – at least, not to speak with – though, both had witnessed the emotional outburst at the burial service that morning, and it had greatly saddened their hearts.

"Legolas, it has been so long!" Elladan exclaimed, as he swung the Elfling into his arms. "And you have grown, pen-neth."

"You are the only one to notice," the Prince replied. "You have not changed at all, either of you."

Elrohir smiled, and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "We have missed you. And although it is good to see you once more, it is grievous that we must meet under such unhappy circumstances."

"Yes, it is very unhappy," Legolas replied. He glanced at the high table, and shook his head. "But tonight is for celebration of my Nana's life, not being upset because she has gone away. So we mustn't be sad."

"Then, are you happy?" Elladan asked uncertainly.

Legolas looked again to the high table, and this time he met the steely eyes of his father. He smiled, and nodded. "Yes. I am happy."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sighing, Thranduil tore his gaze away, and looked back to continue his discussion with Celeborn. But the Lórien Lord had disappeared, and sitting in his place was Elrond. "Oh, it is you," the King said in surprise.

"A fine greeting," the Peredhil said with a soft smile.

"Forgive me. I expected Celeborn, but instead I got you." Thranduil was silent for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No, I am sorry. That sounded even worse. What I meant was that I did not expect you to be there…that is to say, you had not been there previously, and…never mind. I am sure you can make some sense of that."

"Just about," Elrond replied.

"Here, have some wine."

The Imladris Lord took the proffered goblet, but did not drink from it. "Thank you. Thranduil, how are you?"

"What do you…?" The King laughed softly as realisation hit. "Ah, I see. You wish to know how I am coping with my wife's death. Why ask, Elrond? You are a wise Elf, and surely my harsh display this morning did not go un-noticed. That must have told you everything."

"It told me _some_ things," Elrond said. "But not everything."

"No? Well, my behaviour must have appalled you," Thranduil sneered. "So come, tell me your thoughts, why don't you? I greatly desire to hear them. No doubt you now believe me to be unfit as a father, and-

"I am your friend. I want to-

"And Galadriel probably has a few choice words," the Elven-king cut in angrily. "Well, tell me. Tell me everything. Perhaps hearing the truth from a source other than my own mind will be enough to make me realise what it is I have to do to stop the pain that I am causing, and-

"Stop this!"

Thranduil snapped his head around as a firm hand gripped his shoulder through his robes. "Who are you to command me?" he asked softly.

"I am the Queen's brother and your friend," Círhael replied. He sat in Legolas' vacated chair, but did not withdraw his hand. "Elrond did not come here to be snapped at. You treated him unfairly."

"You…you speak the truth." Exhaling deeply, Thranduil turned to the Imladris Lord, and shook his head. "Forgive me. Your intentions were good, and I rejected them."

"Yes, they were meant well, but perhaps tonight was not the best time to offer them," Elrond replied. "I will leave you for the moment, but please remember that I can help you."

As the Peredhil moved away, Thranduil closed his eyes in annoyance. "Círhael, release me. I am only five hundred years your junior, yet you always seek to make me feel like more."

"No, I do not. But if you insist on treating your friends the same way that a bad tempered Elfling would, that is not my fault," the fair haired Elf said, removing his hand. "It is your doing, not mine."

"You know that I regret saying what I did to Elrond. I feel bad enough as it is without you looking at me disapprovingly, and lecturing me," Thranduil sighed. "Please, will you just…just leave the matter?"

Círhael glanced sideways at his brother-in-law, and shook his head slowly. "If that is what you want, then I will say no more except this: he was trying to help. He sought not to make you angry."

"And if I do not wish for help?" Thranduil asked.

"I do not think," Círhael murmured, "that it is a question of whether you wish for help or not. You _need_ help, and I am afraid that that is all there is to be said on the subject."

The Elven-king laughed bitterly, and looked away. He watched instead as, on the other side of the hall, Legolas listened to a joke being told by the twins. A smile was on his face, but Thranduil was not blind to the sadness that lingered in the silver eyes. Sighing deeply, he raised one hand and pushed it through his hair, unconsciously curling his fingers around the golden strands, and pulling hard at them.

'_Legolas believes I am unaware that he has been putting on an act all night,' _he thought helplessly. _'Having to hide his grief like this must be hurting him so much. And it is all because of me. What father would inflict such pain upon his own child?'_

"You are hurting as much as he is," Círhael said softly. "And I know just how much you hate this. But you can overcome it, Thranduil. I have faith in you. I know that you can do it. All you have to do is look deep within yourself, and you will find the strength you seek."

"It sounds easy when you put it like that," the King said. He smiled sadly, and shook his head. "But I do not think that achieving it will be as simple."

"You have the power to change things," Círhael replied.

Thranduil said nothing. He held the other Elf's gaze and forced himself to give a weak smile of agreement. But there were no words. He turned his head once more so that he could watch his son – and at the same time remove himself from the conversation – but when his eyes fell on the twins, Legolas was nowhere to be seen. A sudden nervousness set in, and he silently cursed his lack of attentiveness. He should not have-

"Uncle, you have stolen my chair."

Círhael looked down, and with a smile, lifted his nephew onto his lap. "Forgive me. But come, you may sit with me here, as repayment."

Thranduil let out a soft sigh of relief that he had not known he held. How funny that such a brief absence of his son was enough to set his heart pounding in sudden fear. He put it down to his wife's death. He had already lost Ithilwen, and to have Legolas out of sight even for a few seconds hurt more than he ever could have imagined. He supposed that it was a natural feeling.

"Elladan said that I have grown," the Prince murmured, resting his head against his uncle's shoulder.

"Indeed? Well, he is the only one who has noticed," Círhael replied. He waited for an indignant response, but when nothing happened, he looked down in surprise. "Are you well, pen-neth?"

"Yes. Just tired," Legolas said slowly. "That's why I came back. Elrohir said that I looked like I would fall asleep."

Círhael laughed softly, and got to his feet. "Then, I will take you to bed. We cannot have you falling asleep in front of everyone, can we?"

"No." Legolas glanced at the King, who had turned away, before leaning in close to whisper in his uncle's ear.

The Elf-lord listened, and as he did so, a look of surprise crossed his face. "Of course you can. Why should you need to ask that?"

Muttering something inaudible, the Prince leaned down to gently tug on his father's braid. "Ada, I'm going to bed now. I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh, I see. Well, goodnight then," Thranduil replied. As Círhael began to move away, he said: "Legolas, you…you did not disappoint me tonight."

The Elfling smiled, delighted with the comment. "Goodnight, Ada."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I will keep you only for another few minutes, and then you may sleep to your heart's content," Círhael said, as he sat behind the Elfling to brush his hair. "Can you last that long, do you think?"

"Yes."

The Elf-lord spoke not a word, but the expression on his face as he began to gently pull a hairbrush through his nephew's tresses, was troubled. In Legolas' single quiet word, there had been displayed countless different emotions: sadness; fear; confusion; and so much more. No child should ever sound so grief stricken. It really did cut him deep.

And then as he worked, Círhael heard a soft sniff that spoke of tears to come; and saw a small hand snake up to swipe at eyes that he knew would be glistening with silver drops of sadness. Sighing inwardly, he laid down the brush, and with a gentle but firm hand on each shoulder, turned the Prince so that he could look into the despondent face. He had not been wrong about the glistening eyes.

"Ai Legolas," he said softly. "Tell me."

"It's nothing," the Elfling whispered, looking away. "Just tired."

Círhael lifted his nephew's chin so that their eyes met, and as he did so, a tear fell to dampen his fingers. "No, I want to hear the truth. Do not try and fool me with a lie, because I can see through it."

"I don't…I can't…" Legolas closed his eyes and shook his head, silver drops trickling from under his lashes. "Please…"

"Look at me," Círhael said firmly. "Look at me."

The Prince opened his eyes, and reached out with shaking hands to grasp the front of his uncle's robes. "I have to stop," he murmured. "No more pretending. I can't pretend any more. It hurts."

"Pretending? What do you…?" Círhael let out a deep breath as realisation hit. "Pen-neth, you do not have to pretend. You never did."

"Ada wanted me to be happy, so I _had_ to be happy, otherwise he would get mad at me, and I didn't want that," Legolas whispered. "I told him that I wouldn't cry at the feast, and I didn't. I was good, just like he wanted me to be. But all the time, it…I…"

Círhael reached out, and rested a gentle hand on his nephew's cheek. "Carry on, tithen-las. Just take your time."

"All the time I was in the feasting hall, I was so upset, but I had to keep smiling. And tears were always coming into my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall, and I couldn't let Ada see," Legolas pressed on, his voice rising with hysteria. "And it hurt me, it hurt me inside. And it still does, because by pretending, I am lying, and by lying, I am not being respectful to Nana, and I can't do it any more. Please don't make me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just…"

"Come here," Círhael whispered, wrapping both arms around the trembling Prince, and pulling him close. "Hush, hush. Legolas, you-

"Don't make me pretend any more," the Elfling sobbed.

"I will do no such thing. You can shed as many tears as you want to, and I will not even _try _to stop you," Círhael said gently. "No-one should have hindered your grief, and I-

"Not even Ada?" Legolas sniffed.

"Especially not Ada. There is nothing, _nothing_ wrong with showing your sadness before others. No-one will think any less of you," the Elf-lord replied.

The Prince looked up, and drew the sleeve of his night-tunic across his eyes. "Ada will think less of me, and he is the only one that matters. I wouldn't care if the whole of Mirkwood saw me crying and thought that I was stupid, but Ada…I can't make him disappointed. Not again."

'_When I see that Elf, I will…' _Círhael let his thoughts trail into nothing. He had to remain calm for Legolas.

Sniffing, the Elfling buried his face in the front of his uncle's robes. "Will you tell Ada about this?"

"I will say nothing if that is your wish, however…" Círhael sighed, and shook his head slightly. "However, I do not think that you have anything to lose by telling him. It might be best that he knows."

"Wouldn't be best," Legolas muttered. "Would be worse. Don't tell him."

"Very well, we will keep this to ourselves," Círhael answered. He turned the child's face up to his, and with a gentle smile, brushed his fingers across the damp cheeks. "Come, let me put you to bed now. It is late, and sleep will do you good."

As he was lowered into the soft bed, Legolas returned the elder Elf's smile with a weak one of his own. "Thank you for…for…well, just for being nice to me, and for understanding. I love you."

"And I love you, pen-neth," Círhael replied. He leaned down, and kissed the Elfling's forehead. "Sleep well."

With one last look at his nephew, the Elf-lord straightened and went over to the door. As he opened it, his green eyes narrowed angrily, for his brother-in-law stood on the other side, apparently with every intention of going into the Prince's room. Círhael, however, shook his head coldly, and stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut as he did so.

"Is he asleep?" Thranduil asked.

"No, not yet. But do not go in to see him," Círhael replied. "I suggest you either return to the feast – which I assume has not yet finished – or you go to your own rooms."

"I see. And, what has brought about this sudden authority over what I do?" the King questioned.

Círhael laughed bitterly and moved down the corridor, away from Legolas' room. "I have very little authority over what you do or do not do. However, your son has just passed the last few minutes sobbing into my shoulder."

"He…what? But then, surely I should-

"No. Because we both know that at this moment in time, you will only make matters worse," Círhael replied. He paused, and stepped closer to his brother-in-law. "Do you know what causes Legolas' grief?"

Thranduil sighed, lowering his eyes to the ground as he answered softly: "I have a fair idea."

"Do you think it was Ithilwen's death?" the elder Elf asked. "It wasn't. It was you. Do you understand that? _You _did that to him. He should still be grieving for the loss of his mother, but instead, he cries for the pain inflicted on him by his own father; for the games that are being played with his young mind; for the smile that he had to wear all night just to please you. And he-

"I know that I hurt him," Thranduil cut in, unable to keep the desperation from creeping into his voice. "But do you really think that I mean to? I hate myself for the way that I have been treating him, and if I could change things, I would. But on my own, I cannot. And that is so painful, it really is. I want to make things right, with all of my heart, I do."

Círhael nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, if I let you by, and you go into Legolas now, what would you say to him?"

"I…I would…he…" Thranduil closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply. "I would just speak from my heart, and…"

"And hope for the best?" Círhael finished coldly. "That is not good enough. And if you want my honest opinion…you should be ashamed of yourself. I _know_ you are hurting, believe me, I know. But that is not enough to forgive what you have done to your child."

Thranduil just stared at his brother-in-law, lost for words. He had not been spoken to like that since he had been a Prince of Greenwood himself. And now that he was the King of Mirkwood, here he was being treated like and made to feel like a child once more. But the worst thing of all was that he knew the words were true, and that he deserved them.

"I love you, both as a friend and as a brother," Círhael said in a low voice. "But Valar help me, Thranduil, I have never wanted to strike someone more than I do at this moment. I suggest you leave now, to save yourself from getting hurt, and to save me from doing something which I will hater regret. Just go."

The Elven-king looked up, his eyes flashing with barely concealed anger. At any other time, with any other individual, he would have fought back with his own words, even with his fists, if it should come to that. But at this point, and with this Elf, he knew that he could not win. There was no sense even trying to battle against his brother-in-law, for he knew that the fury of Círhael was too much. So without another word, Thranduil spun on his heel and walked away. He would not return to the feast. He would retreat to his private rooms, where he could be alone with his pain.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Lombadia Greenleaf: **Nope, no brothers/sisters in this one. I don't really know why. I think it was something to do with the fact that I had two brothers in the last story that I wrote, and I didn't want it to be repetitive or anything. In the play, my character is called Carland. She's part of a really bad theatre company from London, and they've come down to Cornwall to put on a play. But it's so hard, playing a bad actor! I'm not saying that because I think I'm amazing or anything, but because you just have to totally forget all that you've learnt about status and blocking and subtext and stuff like that!

**Elven Kitten: **Oops. I don't mean to make people cry, honest!

**Utsuri: **Hehe! I'm glad you feel bad for him, though, because it's not his fault that he's doing this. And your questions will be answered in…well, at some point in the near future!

**Irish Anor: **Hehe, yes, cast parties are a lot of fun!

**Kelsey Estel: **Did I mention how old Legolas is? I forget. Brain like a sieve, me! Yes, Thranduil is frustrating quite a lot of people, but at the same time, he's getting a lot of sympathy from nearly everyone!

**Cute Little Legolas: **Glad you enjoy!

**Lilan: **Yes, it is very difficult for both of them to deal with, for exactly the reasons that you said. I'm glad that you like the story, though!

**Flamesofthemoon: **Thanks for the review!

**PHE: **Sorry for not writing your whole name, it just saves time this way! Poor you, being grounded. Hope you get let off soon!

**JediGollum: **No, not in this one. I started to write a story about that, but I got about ten chapters done, and then I got serious writer's block, so I put it aside for a while and started on this instead. I don't think I've told you about this one. It's a fairly new idea.

**Rutu: **Nope, no brothers in this! I've spent about a year writing him with brothers, and although I loved it, I thought that I should make him an only child in this. Mostly because it would be easier for the storyline; and I wouldn't make the mistake of repeating anything that I did with Calaen and Airëlus.

**Coolio02: **Yep, pretty much everyone else has said the same thing about Thranduil!

**Pirates of the carr: **Oops. I keep on making people cry. It's not a good habit to get into!

**Kel: **Yep, the twins are definitely gonna be around for a little bit!

**Legolas-gurl88: **Sorry about not replying to your e-mail sooner, but I just sent you one back. Yay, pictures! I'd love to see some!

**Elf771: **Yeah, I think that it is, but I'm not particularly great at Sindarin. Actually, I'm awful! I only know the basics!

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **Yeah, it was definitely very wrong of him. He knows that, and its really cutting him up. Poor guy.

**SivanShemesh: **Glad you like!

This was meant to be up last night, but 'Supersize Me' was on, and as a McDonald's employee, I thought it would be beneficial to watch. You see, I'm looking for an excuse to quit my job, and that seemed like the perfect solution! So, sorry about the delay in posting, but it's up now.

Next chapter will be up on…not tomorrow, that's Trevithick Day, not Sunday, I'm going to Exeter, so…yeah, Monday. It's a Bank Holiday then, so that'll give me time to type it up.

See you all soon,

Misto

x-x


	4. Chapter 4

The morning after the feast, Thranduil went straight to his study, not even bothering to inform Círhael, as he had done so for the past few days, that he would once again be absent from breakfast. The words that had been spoken by his furious brother-in-law still rang in his ears, and now that he had gotten over the shock of being treated so, anger that he had not known the previous night was beginning to enter his heart.

'_How dare he stop me from seeing my own son?' _the King asked silently. _'What right did he think himself to have?'_

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Thranduil could not help but wonder if Círhael had not done the wrong thing. If he had been let in to see Legolas, would he have taken the boy in his arms and held him close; or would he, as his brother-in-law suspected, have verbally attacked him for behaviour that was not becoming of a Prince? If he was honest with himself…probably the latter.

It was not that he would have wanted to, of course not. No, instead it would have been because every time he looked into the face of his son, the King saw his wife gazing back at him. And when that happened, he heard her screaming his name as the Orcs brutally assaulted her body; and he would see himself, powerless to move until it was too late, and he also was caught by the servants of Sauron.

And it was that, and so much more, which fuelled his anger; which made him snap and berate when what he meant and wanted to do was quite the opposite. Because he knew, and would never forget, that if not for him, Ithilwen would still be alive. He would still have a wife; Círhael would still have a sister; and Legolas would still have a mother. His guilt was turning him into someone that he did not wish to become, and he could not stop it.

"I have prayed to the Valar every night since it happened. I have asked them for strength and help, but they give me nothing," he murmured, staring unseeingly at the floor. "Why? Is this their way of punishing me? If so, then so be it. I will accept it. But they cannot punish my child for something that he has not done, they-

The Elven-king was cut off mid-sentence, and he jerked his head up sharply to glare at the door opposite him. The knock had been quiet, timid almost, but still loud enough to pull him painfully from his thoughts. Exhaling deeply, he closed his eyes as he called out permission for whichever advisor it was who had decided to come and hassle him, to enter. But it was no advisor.

"Good morning, Ada," Legolas said shyly. "You weren't at breakfast."

"No," Thranduil replied. "I have work to catch up on."

"Uncle Círhael said that too. So I…well, I brought you this, just in case you get hungry," Legolas said, stepping forwards so that he stood in front of the desk.

The King glanced at the apple in his son's outstretched hand, and inclined his head briefly. "Did you ask permission to take that?"

"Yes, I did. I'll take it back, though, if you don't want it," Legolas replied. "I just didn't want you to be hungry, Ada."

"That…that was considerate of you. Just leave it here, then," Thranduil said. He picked up a quill and rested the tip of it on a piece of parchment, preparing to write a letter long put off. "Forgive me, Legolas. This work will not do itself."

"Oh, are you busy?" the Prince asked.

"Hmm. I have…" Falling into silence, Thranduil leaned forwards slightly, and gazed at his son. "What do you have behind your back?"

Flushing, Legolas brought his other arm out of hiding, producing parchment and various drawing implements. "Well, I don't have any lessons today, and I don't want to be on my own again. Uncle Círhael is busy doing something, and the twins are still at breakfast, so I was wondering…if you don't mind…could I sit in here and draw? I won't disturb you, but if you don't want me, I'll go, and-

"Yes!" Thranduil cut in irritably. "Yes, stay in here. But if you make too much noise, you can leave again."

Legolas nodded quickly, and without another word, sat down on the floor and began to let his pen move over the parchment. He was vaguely aware of a pair of cool eyes fixed on him, and with a flick of his head, a curtain of hair fell down to hide his face. Scrutiny always made him feel uncomfortable, even more so when it was his father who was watching him.

'_This is a chance to try and right your wrongs,' _Thranduil told himself. _'Are you going to pass it up? If you do, you are a fool. All you have to do is speak. Is that so hard?'_

Sighing, he looked down at the empty piece of parchment, and shook himself mentally. He had work, very important work that had piled up over the days since Ithilwen's death. And if it was not done soon, he would have some irate advisors to deal with. But who was he supposed to be writing to? And why? He could not remember. But if he was honest with himself, he did not want to. Nor did he care. For his mind was being taken over by thoughts much darker.

**Flashback**

As he listened with only one ear to his wife's description of their son's antics at breakfast that morning, Thranduil turned away, gazing into the surrounding foliage. Something was not right, he could feel it. Something was going to happen. But what? The trees murmured uneasily, they whispered of approaching danger. He shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to decipher their hints.

"Did you know that the first sign of losing one's mind is when one starts to speak to oneself?" Queen Ithilwen smiled, standing behind her husband to wrap both arms around his chest. "However, if there is another individual present, then-

"Let go of me," Thranduil cut in. He turned to face her, and as she began to protest, he held a finger to her lips. "No, listen. Do you not hear it?"

The Queen fell silent and tilted her head to the side, all the while gazing into the other Elf's eyes. She could see the barely concealed fear in the blue pools; and as sudden realisation hit, her own grey eyes widened in horror. She let out a deep breath and felt for her husband's hand, seeking reassurance, safety.

"Orcs," Thranduil muttered. "There is no time to flee. They are close, too close. The trees will offer us sanctuary."

"Then come," Ithilwen said quickly.

The Elven-king pulled his wife across to a beech, and nodded towards it. "Climb this one. Stay out of sight, make no noise, and you will be safe. Do not get down until I come for you."

"And you?" the Queen asked.

Thranduil made a vague gesture with his hands, and turned away. His gaze fell on the two long knives that he had dropped to the ground only an hour ago, and he cursed himself silently. They were all the way on the other side of the clearing. Not far, but still far enough for him to possibly risk both his life and his wife's, without need. He wanted his weapons; he would not feel safe without them, but-

"What are you waiting for?" Ithilwen hissed.

"I-

As Thranduil took a step forward to retrieve his knives, the oak they lay beneath drooped slightly, and one of its branches curled underneath the blades, to pull them both back into the foliage. The King cursed aloud this time, although later on, he would realise that the tree's act had been a kind one – for no sooner had he turned and hidden himself in the branches of a beech, the Orcs came pouring through into the clearing, he would have had no time. But his gaze was not on them. It had been drawn instead, to the tree that his wife was hiding in. Trailing through the leaves was a sash. A lilac sash, which had caught and snagged on the branches – Queen Ithilwen's sash.

**End Flashback**

"Ada? Ada? Ada!"

"What?" Thranduil snapped, slamming a hand against his desk. "What do you want? I told you not to disturb me."

"Yes, but you…you looked scared," Legolas replied softly. "I've never seen you scared before. Are you alright?"

"Of course I am," the King said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. "Just…just leave me to do my work."

Nodding, the Elfling turned away, but he was at his father's side only a second later. "Ada, I'm drawing you a picture. It's not finished yet, but I need your help, because I'm not sure if…well, I'm having trouble with something, and I want to know what you think. Will you look at it quickly?"

"Very well…"

"Thank you. Well, this is it," Legolas explained, passing the parchment to the King, and leaning over him to point at the figures before their eyes. "That Elf is Uncle Círhael – I gave him green eyes; and that one is you – I gave you a crown; and that one is me – you can tell it's me because it's small."

"Then, where does the problem lie?" Thranduil asked.

Legolas bit down on his lip and lowered his eyes, drawing patterns on the floor with his feet. "Well, I'm in it, you're in it, and Uncle Círhael is in it…"

"I know that, I can see that," the Elven-king snapped. "For the love of the Valar, will you speak? Otherwise you can just leave."

"I want to put Nana in there," Legolas said quickly. "Just because she's gone, it doesn't mean she isn't still part of our family, so it's only right that I draw her too. But because this is for you, you can decide if you want her to be there or not. If it will upset you, I won't put her in this time. It's up to you, Ada."

Thranduil stared at the childish picture before him, playing for time so that he could compose his thoughts, and arrange the words he wanted to say into a sentence that would not sound harsh to his son's ears. But how? What was he supposed to say? He looked down and met Legolas' gaze, and as he did so, the Prince's eyes widened, and he shook his head violently.

"I'm sorry, Ada," he said quickly. "I didn't…"

Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off even before he began. The door to his study flew open, and Saeldur, a captain of Mirkwood's forces, ran into the room, his eyes flashing in anger and pain as he tried to calm himself before his lord. Blood stained the front of his green tunic, and claw marks ran down the side of his face. The King's mind spun back momentarily to the attack on Ithilwen, but a noise of distress from his son jerked him back sharply to the present.

"Ada!" Legolas cried, burying his face into his father's robes.

"What happened?" Thranduil demanded, unconsciously reaching down to lay a hand on top of the child's head. "An attack? From where? By who?"

"Yes, my Lord, an attack," Saeldur replied quickly. "Orcs coming from the South. They attacked us from all sides, our chances seemed slim. We defeated them, but that victory exists only because Alondir's patrol was out and came to our rescue. This blood is not mine, my Lord. We lost Tirithon."

Thranduil swore violently, his eyes blazing with fury as the words penetrated his mind. "Then, how can you call it a victory? It is not a victory if he has fallen!"

"But none of the Orcs survived," Saeldur replied. "His was the only life lost."

"Yes, from today's attack!"

"There are few casualties," the captain added quickly. "We could have been less lucky."

Drawing a deep breath and letting it out again, Thranduil reached down and turned his son's face away from his robes. "Leave us now. Go to Círhael and stay with him, I-

"No," Legolas whispered. "Blood. Ada, there's blood!"

"I know, and that is why I want you to get away from here," the King answered sharply. "I will not have you present whilst Saeldur and I discuss this matter. It cannot be heard by a child, so-

"Is he going to die?" Legolas' eyes filled with tears as he voiced the question, and he bit down hard on his lip. "Don't let the captain die, not like Nana. Ada, stop the blood, please. I don't like it; I don't want to see it!"

"Then instead of interrupting me, you will listen!" Thranduil shouted, gripping the child's shoulders, and holding him tightly. "Now, you leave this room, and you…Don't you dare shake your head at me!"

"Don't…"

The King held the tearful gaze only for a second, before pushing his chair back, and, with a hiss of anger, grabbing the Elfling's wrist. Fully aware of the apprehensive captain on the other side of the room, he pulled his son across to the door, and wrenched it open with such force that it slammed against the wall. But he gave it no attention as he reached down and caught the Prince's chin, forcing him to look up.

"Ada, you're hurting me," Legolas whispered.

"You should not have acted so, then," Thranduil hissed. "Rest assured that you and I will be speaking later of this. For now, I want you to do as you have been told, and leave."

With a last frightened look at his angry father, Legolas pulled himself free and fled from the room. Hot tears, tears of pain and fear streamed from his eyes, and as soon as he was a safe distance away from the study, he collapsed against the wall, using it as a support for his trembling body.

"What's happened to you, Ada?" he breathed. "You have never shouted at me before, and you've never hurt me. I don't understand…why?"

Back in the study, as he listened to Captain Saeldur's report, the very same thoughts played in the mind of the Elven-king of Mirkwood. What was happening? He did not understand. And perhaps the most eminent thought of all…why?

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours passed by, and that evening, for the second time that day, Legolas stood nervously before the door of his father's study, preparing himself to seek permission to enter. He had been seated in the dining hall, just finishing his meal, when a servant had come in with a message for Círhael. Apparently the King requested his son's presence. And so, with a muttered apology as his uncle sighed irritably, the Prince had left the table as quickly as he could.

He knew why Thranduil wanted to see him. It would be to discuss his behaviour from that morning, and the way that he had reacted upon seeing the blood staining Captain Saeldur's clothes. What else? Even as he remembered the crimson flowering, he shivered. It was horrible. But shaking himself mentally, he raised one arm and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Legolas closed his eyes briefly before obeying; and inclined his head as he stepped into the room. "Ada…"

"What kept you?" Thranduil asked coldly.

"I'm sorry that I kept you waiting, but Uncle Círhael wasn't sure whether he should let me leave during the meal," the Elfling replied. "I came as soon as I could, though."

The King made a non-committal noise, and nodded to a seat before his desk. "Sit. We have things to discuss."

"Yes. But Ada, may I say something first?"

"If you must."

Legolas took a deep breath, leaning forwards slightly as he began to speak. "I know that you are angry with me, and I know that you are going to punish me for this morning. I'm not going to ask you _not_ to, because I also know that what I did wasn't good. But I just want _you_ to know why I did it."

"Enlighten me," Thranduil said dryly.

"When I saw the blood, it reminded me of that day. That day when you came back from the forest, and Nana…was carried back by the soldiers," Legolas said, his voice quiet. "You were bleeding, Ada. And like Captain Saeldur, the Orcs had scratched your face. You were hurt, and even though you tried not to show it, I was scared for you. But then you fell. Uncle Círhael caught you before you hit the ground, and as he held you, the blood got onto his clothes and hands. I was crying, but no-one took any notice. I didn't know what was happening. All I could see was blood, and…and so when the Captain came in today, it scared me. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself. I'm just telling you the truth."

Thranduil stared at his son in shocked silence. That was the first time that Legolas had spoken of Ithilwen's death, the first time he had revealed what he had seen and suffered on the day that it had happened. And the King was frozen, unable to move. For once, his wife had faded from his mind, and all he wanted was to go forwards and hold his child, comfort and reassure him. He could see himself doing it in his mind. There it looked so easy. But in reality, it was a lot harder.

"Ada, I'm not making excuses," Legolas repeated. "I'm not trying to get myself out of trouble."

The Elven-king shook himself mentally, and nodded once. "I should hope not," he replied coolly.

"I just thought that you should know why I behaved like I did, and now you _do_ know, and…well, I'm finished now, and I don't have anything else to say," Legolas ended lamely.

"The way you acted upon seeing the state of Saeldur's appearance is not what bothered me," Thranduil sighed. "A sight like that would shock anyone, be they child or no. So your initial reaction was perfectly acceptable. There is nothing to forgive for that. However…what made me lose my temper was your attitude towards me."

"It was wrong of me," Legolas muttered.

"Yes, it was. You cut me off whilst I was speaking; you raised your voice; you refused to do what I told you," Thranduil said angrily. "I will not tolerate behaviour like that from anyone, and especially you. I am not raising you to conduct yourself in such a manner. You are a Prince of this realm, and I expect you to act like one."

"I couldn't help it," the Elfling said quietly.

"Maybe not, but that is not…" Sighing deeply, Thranduil pushed a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes for a second. "There is no need for us to discuss this further. I have said all that I want to…on this subject. You are free to leave."

"Am I?" Legolas asked in surprise. "But I thought that…that you were going to punish me, I…"

The King shook his head, silently replying: _'I am punishing you enough as it is.'_

"Well, I'll go then." The Prince turned to leave, but then hesitated, and glanced back over his shoulder. "Ada, I…nothing."

As his son came to a decision and quickly left the room, Thranduil leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to shut out the surrounding world. But the solitude of his mind was just as dangerous, just as chilling as his reality. For as he let himself be taken over by darkness, he began to remember. He tried to stop the images from returning, he tried to fight…he could not. He, the Elven-king of Mirkwood, warrior of countless wars and battles, was powerless.

**Flashback**

'_Stay still, Ithilwen,' _Thranduil thought desperately. '_Just stay still, please. The wind is down, but if you move, they will see you, and…no. No!'_

One of the Orcs gathered below had caught sight of the lilac sash, and with a cruel grin plastered on his face, was busy spreading the word among his comrades. They knew, they knew that there was an Elf within reach. Biting hard on his lip, the King watched through horrified eyes as the creatures surrounded his wife's hiding place. He had to do something to distract them…a diversion…but what? What could he do without his weapons? Could he reveal himself before they got to Ithilwen? Yes, but would that give her time to flee?

And then, before his very eyes, laughing and shouting, the Orcs jumped, grabbed the sash…and their prey fell. Thranduil's cry of fear went unheeded, drowned out as the foul yells of Sauron's servants echoed in the clearing. And he could do nothing. He was weaponless, powerless, helpless as his beloved wife was thrown around the group.

"No, stop this," he whispered. "Stop…"

But he knew that would no nothing. As Ithilwen struck out blindly, one of the Orcs hit back with the hilt of his blade, knocking her to the ground. But they were quick to pull her to her feet once more, ruthlessly clawing at her as the blood ran in rivulets down her pale face. They laughed loudly at her; some pulled at her hair; and others were starting to…

"No!" the King snarled. "No!"

**End Flashback**

The study door flew open to bang against the wall, and Thranduil's eyes snapped up, his breathing heavy as he gazed upon the intruder. "What…what are you….?" He trailed into silence, and shook his head slowly. "Do not do that…"

"If you wish to be on your own, why do you not lock the door or go to your private rooms?" Círhael questioned, mentally noting the fear in the other Elf's eyes, and the visible trembling of his body as he struggled to calm himself.

"I…what?"

"I knocked three times without an answer, which is why I entered in such a fashion," the Elf-lord replied.

Thranduil looked confused, but nodded all the same. "Yes, well…what did you want with me?"

Putting both hands on the desk, Círhael leaned forwards, and fixed his brother-in-law with a penetrating stare. "You were absent from the dining hall at breakfast, luncheon and dinner. You have eaten nothing all day. Where have you been? In here?"

"I have been working," Thranduil sighed. "Tirithon was killed this morning."

The fair haired Elf lowered his eyes, and nodded once. "I know. It is a grievous loss, but from what I hear, it could not have been avoided. But really, we have been lucky. There could have been more deaths."

"So I have been told," Thranduil nodded. "Saeldur was with me for a long while, we were speaking with the military advisors and the other captains. I have had no time to eat. If I am honest, eating is the very last thing on my mind. So please, stop fussing. You know how much I am irritated by it."

"I am merely worried for you!" Círhael snapped. Sighing, he turned away, and shook his head sadly. When he next spoke, his voice was soft. "We all are, but you do not see it. You see it instead as interference, and I only wish that you knew otherwise."

Thranduil was silent as he played absently with a quill that lay on his desk. Yes, he knew that everyone was trying to help him, and he knew that he should accept it. But he could not. He would not admit that he needed help to…to what? Love his son? No, just to sort himself and his life out. That first notion was a ridiculous one. Of course he didn't need help with _that._

"Do you remember when your father died?" Círhael asked softly.

"What?" Thranduil shook his head angrily, and threw the quill back onto the desk. "Why do you bring this up now?"

The elder Elf sighed deeply, but his expression was sympathetic. "He was proud, so proud. And you inherited that from him, there is no doubting it. But it is time for you to lay aside your pride, because it is that which keeps you from accepting the truth and the help that you need."

"You speak folly," the King said scornfully.

"Do I? When Oropher was forced to march under Gil-galad's banner, he was resentful," Círhael replied, his voice level. "But his pride got the better of him, did it not? We were both there, Thranduil. We both saw it. He could not bear to be commanded by the High King of the Noldor. So he charged, he charged before the signal was given to do so. And he was slain in the first assault, leaving you to lead home just a third of the warriors that had left Greenwood."

Thranduil stood, pushing his chair viciously away as he went before his brother-in-law, eyes blazing with fury. "I ask that you leave this subject now. There is nothing more to say here."

"There is." Círhael's voice was cool, but not without pity. "Pride led your father to death. Do not be a victim to a similar fate. Save yourself, before time runs out."

The two Elves kept their gazes locked for a moment, before the elder nodded once, and left the study without another word. Alone again, Thranduil closed his eyes in despair. "Save myself," he murmured. "How can I do that, when I do not know how to?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Utsuri: **Yeah, you're right there. None of my others have been particularly pleasant, but this one focuses a lot more on emotional pain than physical. I hope you enjoyed your mocha latte!

**Elven Kitten: **Thank you!

**Irish Anor: **I'm glad that you feel bad for him, rather than wanting to beat him over the head with a saucepan for being not nice to Legolas.

**Kelsey Estel: **Poor you, doing all of that work! Yes, the relationship between Thranduil and Círhael is not particularly good at this moment in time. And you're right: he is, in a way, standing between father and son. His only concern is Legolas, though, and he feels as though he's doing the right thing, and protecting him.

**SivanShemesh: **Tissue warnings…yeah, maybe I should bring those in!

**Kel: **I don't think I could write a story and not involve the twins in some way or another!

**Rutu: **I think it would be interesting to write the alternate ending for 'Captured', and although I've had a few ideas about it, it doesn't look too promising at the moment – mostly because of all the work that I've got on, and because my current stories have to take precedence. But if I do get around to writing it, I probably won't post it on here – the general response I've got from people isn't very promising – a lot have said that the stories of Calaen and Airëlus have gone as far as they possibly can, and there's no room for further development. However…if you would like to see the alternate ending, I can write it and e-mail you a copy of it?

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **Yes, he definitely should!

**Legolas-gurl88: **I saw KOH last night!

**Coolio02: **Oops. More sadness!

**Pirates of the carr: **Yay, I'm glad that you smiled last chapter!

**Brazgirl: **Legolas is quite young in this. He's not younger than five, but he's not older than eight. So probably about six/seven years old. Mortal years, obviously. Hope that helps!

**Lilan: **Yes, pretending is definitely a very exhausting thing to do! And not a very healthy thing to do, either!

**Opalkitty: **I'm glad you're liking it!

I am so sorry about the delay with this chapter; it's just that my life is so horribly busy at the moment. I'm studying for my AS levels which start on Wednesday, and then go on for about another month or so, which I'm not really looking forwards to. However…I go on study leave next Monday, so that's good.

I've decided that I can't post chapters every three days. I'm afraid that it's gonna have to be a longer space between updates, because of the amount of college work that I've got. This isn't a permanent thing – once the summer holidays start, I'll be updating every couple of days. But during this exam period – which is bound to be very stressful, like last year – updates will be once a week.

Misto

x-x


	5. Chapter 5

The quill hovered over the piece of parchment as Legolas closed his eyes, trying to recall the correct spellings that he had learnt for his test in Sindarin. There were twenty words that had to be translated from Westron, and so far, he had managed nineteen. But for the life of him, he just could not remember the last one. His mind had gone blank, and he really could not…oh. As realisation hit, he flushed, and quickly lowered his pen to scribble the correct spelling.

"What caused that pink tinge on your cheeks?" Ameldir asked.

Legolas smiled as he handed the test to his tutor. "I didn't know how to spell 'nightingale' in Sindarin. And then I thought of Lúthien, and I realised how silly it was that I had forgotten how to spell the last part of her name."

"I see. Well, I will mark this for you, and then we can move on to some other work," the elder Elf replied.

Making a face, Legolas turned away and began to draw patterns on the desk with the tip of his finger. As he watched the formation of strange shapes, his mind drifted away to his father, and he could not help but sigh deeply. Thranduil was no longer seen around the palace. Last week, he had started to isolate himself, locking the doors to his private rooms, and not even coming to meals. His advisors had started to lose their tempers in the council meetings, claiming in loud voices that the absence of their King made their jobs impossible.

But what did Legolas care about that? The absence of his father was making his life even worse than it had been before. He had pleaded with Círhael to do something, but the elder Elf had only muttered: "Ada will be fine. Just wait." But that was no reassurance. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel had left for Lórien with Arwen; and the young Prince was afraid that Lord Elrond would also want to leave soon, and would return with the twins to Imladris.

Without them, he would be alone. He would have no friends, no Nana and no Ada. Only his uncle. But even the normally strong Círhael was being affected by Thranduil's desertion, for it was he who now had to take responsibility: the irate advisors; the concerns of the captains over gathering Orcs; the troubles of the people of Mirkwood; and even the King's son! Yes, he had to take care of it all. But the work was taking its toll on him. The previous night, he had been so distressed that he had snapped at his nephew over the most trivial of matters.

"Well," Ameldir stated, jerking the Prince back to reality. "You have full marks for this. Good work, pen-neth. Not all of the words were easy, I know."

"I didn't get anything wrong?" Legolas asked doubtfully.

The tutor shook his head, and handed the parchment back to his student. "No, nothing. Why does that come as a surprise to you?"

"I don't know. I just…I was thinking about other things while I was writing, and I wasn't really concentrating, so I thought that there would be mistakes," Legolas shrugged. He glanced up at the elder Elf, and bit down on his lip. "Ameldir…"

"Hmm."

"I know you have more work for me, but I was wondering…could I go and show this to Ada?" the Prince asked quickly. "He might be pleased to see that I got full marks. I won't be long, I promise. I'll come back straight away."

The tutor sighed and put down his pen, fixing the Elfling with an annoyed gaze. "Ai Legolas, can it not wait? You really do have a lot of work to catch up on, because we have missed a whole two weeks of lessons. I know that was…unavoidable, but I cannot let you get any further behind."

"Oh, I see. Well, I don't suppose a few hours will make much of a difference," Legolas replied quietly. "At least, not to Ada."

Ameldir was silent for a moment, but then he shook his head, and raised both hands in defeat. "You win. Go to your father then, but take this other work with you. I want all of it done by tomorrow, do you understand me?"

"Yes, but are you sure? If you don't want me to go…" Legolas said slowly, as he was passed some papers and a book.

"Of course," Ameldir replied. "Now go, leave me in peace."

The child smiled and made to depart, but he stopped suddenly, and turned back once more. "Before I go, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm."

"Is it normal?"

Ameldir raised his eyes, and shot the Prince a quizzical look. "I am afraid I must ask you to elaborate for me. What do you mean?"

"When somebody goes away and they leave somebody behind, is it normal for the somebody left behind to forget about the somebodies that he has left, and to…well…" Legolas exhaled sharply, and shook his head in frustration. "I mean Ada. Nana isn't here any more, and that has upset him a lot. It upset me too, and even though I still cry, I'm getting used to it, I think. But Ada isn't. Ameldir, I haven't seen him for days. Is he forgetting me?"

"Of course not," the tutor replied quickly. "But I cannot give you any of the answers that you desire. There is only one who can do that."

"Ada."

"Yes. But what I _can_ tell you is that he has lost one of the most important people in his life, and he will not see her again for a long time," Ameldir continued. "He is still grieving. You say that you are getting used to the idea, but maybe he is just taking a while longer to adjust. Give him time, pen-neth. That is all he needs."

"Uncle Círhael said that. I suppose you're right," Legolas murmured. Looking up, he smiled at his tutor. "Thank you for your help. I will see you tomorrow."

Ameldir nodded silently, watching through eyes darkened with a sudden sadness as his student left the room. The young Prince spoke very little about his father to anyone other than Círhael – today had been the first time since Ithilwen's death – but there were whisperings all over the palace of Legolas' suffering, and rumours that it was the King himself who was the cause of his son's pain. And now, Ameldir could not help but believe it.

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

Legolas closed his eyes, angered and saddened as, after more than ten seconds, there was no response to his knocking on the door to Thranduil's rooms. He hadn't even bothered going to the study. There was no point when he knew exactly where the King would be. Sighing, he raised his arm and knocked once more, hoping desperately that something would come of it.

"Ada, it's me," he called. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you from anything important, but I just want to see you. It won't be for very long if you're busy."

But there was still no answer. The door remained firmly closed; all was silent from inside the King's rooms. Nothing changed - nothing except the expression on Legolas' face. It flicked from hopeful to desperate in a mere second, and his eyes flashed with a maelstrom of tumultuous emotions as he continued speaking.

"I did a test in my lessons. It was a Sindarin test, and I got everything right. I just thought that you would like to see it, and I thought that…" The Elfling's voice dropped to a whisper as he knelt and pushed the parchment under the door. "I thought that you'd be proud of me, Ada."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Whilst the young Prince spoke outside his doors, Thranduil remained unaware. For he was not, as Legolas believed, listening to all that was being said to him, but was instead in one of the adjoining rooms, splashing cold water over his face to try and wake himself up; to try and bring himself back from the past to the future, where he hoped – and prayed – he would remain.

It had happened again. In the middle of writing a letter to his advisors to explain away his absence, his vision had gone black and he was suddenly unable to think, to stop the images from forming once more. They just flashed through his mind, each one more horrendous than the last. Blood, his wife's staring eyes, screaming and…he mentally kicked himself. He had to stop; he could not see it again.

"Why, Ithilwen?" he murmured, closing his eyes and letting the water drip from his face to land in the hair hanging over his shoulders. "I have seen my share of vicious deaths – my friends, my people, my father. But yours…yours I cannot escape from. It haunts me when I am asleep, when I am awake. All the time it follows me, and I am afraid. I am afraid of few things, but this…, I-

The Elven-king cut himself off and turned his head, listening intently. Someone was out there, speaking. The soft voice was more than familiar, and as he raised a hand to wipe away the water on his face, he realised with a jolt who it belonged to. Legolas…Valar, he had missed the child so much, more than anyone could know.

He left the room with a sigh, wondering what he could possibly say when he opened the door to admit his son; but then he stopped, and gazed in silence as a piece of parchment appeared before his eyes. What…? He shook his head slightly, and as he went forwards to pick it up, a slight shiver of apprehension ran through him. Was it from Legolas? What did it read?

But as he scanned it quickly, he could not help but give a soft laugh. Yes, his son had delivered the parchment. Reading the tutor's elegant script of "very good work, well done" beneath the childish scribble of Legolas, the King felt a sudden rush of love. It came so swiftly, so suddenly, that it made his heart skip a beat, and he wondered: could this be it? Could he finally be free from the darkness that had consumed him?

He pulled open the door, expecting to see the waiting Elfling. But there was no-one. The corridor was deserted; he was all alone. Legolas had gone. And then that feeling of love which had come upon him so quickly, left once more at the very same speed. Taking a step back, Thranduil slammed the door shut, and retreated again to be on his own.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Throwing his papers and book onto the ground before the twins, Legolas made a noise of frustration, and stamped his foot. "Why?" he spat.

Elladan arched an eyebrow as his brother began to quietly gather the scattered parchment. "Good afternoon, mellon-nin. It is nice to see you too. Pleasant day, is it not?"

"Sorry," the Prince sighed, sitting between his friends on the grass. "I just…I'm just fed up. Nothing is going right. Except that I got full marks on my Sindarin test, but I don't care about that any more."

"Did your tutor let you finish early?" Elrohir asked, passing the Elfling his work. "Here, you dropped this."

"Thank you. Yes, Ameldir let me finish, but he said that I have to do all of these papers by tomorrow," Legolas replied. "I would've gone to do them, but I got angry, and thought that I'd come out here instead."

Elladan glanced around the gardens, and smiled his agreement. "Yes, it is very peaceful here. It is good if you want to calm down."

"But why _do_ you want to calm down?" Elrohir asked.

Legolas was silent, watching as the wind played with the long blades of grass; as the many different types of flowers swayed from side to side, bobbing their patterned heads to the rhythm of the melodies that were being trilled by birds. The trees, so different to those outside of the palace, spoke softly in the background, their conversations silent to all but the young Prince, who was one of the wood-elves most blessed with such a special affinity with the natural world.

"Do you ever feel as though you don't exist?" he asked eventually. "As though the world goes on but you get left behind? As though you're…nothing?"

"As though we don't exist?" Elladan repeated. "Sometimes."

"As though the world leaves us behind?" Elrohir questioned. "Occasionally."

"As though we are nothing?" both said in unison. "Never."

Legolas laughed softly, gracing the elder Elves with admirable glances. "That was clever. But what do you mean?"

"What we mean is that no matter what happens to you; no matter how upset and defeated you may feel; no matter how much you want to sob and shout and break things, there will always be someone somewhere who you mean more than life to," Elladan explained. "You are _never _nothing, Legolas, so don't let me hear you saying _anything_ like that again. Do you understand me?"

"Listen to him," Elrohir said seriously. "He speaks the truth."

"If I wanted to be told off, I would go to my uncle," the Elfling scowled. "I thought that _you_ two would be nice to me."

Elladan wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders, pulling him close. "Don't be a silly child. We are not telling you off. You just should not say such things."

"But it's the truth," Legolas sighed, leaning his head against the elder Elf's shoulder. "Everyone has forgotten about me, especially Ada."

"No-one has forgotten about you!" Elrohir said in surprise.

"Uncle Círhael is so busy with Ada's work that he doesn't have time for me," the Prince explained. "And Ada…just doesn't care. I want to come and live with you. You're nice to me."

Elladan shot his twin a concerned glance, before fixing a smile on his face to address Legolas. "This reminds me of when Arwen was born. Can you remember that, Ro?"

"How could I forget?" Elrohir snorted.

"When she was born, everyone forgot about us," Elladan explained. "Or so it seemed to us at the time. From where we were standing, we didn't matter to anyone, because their attention was focused all the time on the new baby. So, we decided that it just was not fair. Something had to be done."

Elrohir nodded, turning onto his back so that he lay in a more comfortable position. "We started to make little presents for our parents; we worked especially hard in our lessons; we helped prepare for the feast to celebrate her birth; we were polite; we kept our room tidy…we were very well behaved and pleasant children."

"But we got only the smallest bit of praise for our efforts, because whenever we did something, Arwen would always manage to better it," Elladan continued. "So then we decided that if good behaviour got us nowhere, bad behaviour certainly would. Now, you don't need to know what we did – we don't want to give you ideas. But overnight, we turned into terrors."

"Did it work?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, to a degree," Elrohir nodded. "We were being taken notice of – in a way – but it still was not enough. Extra history lessons with Erestor and confinement to our rooms wasn't what we had in mind. And so…I broke Elladan's wrist."

The Prince's eyes widened; and he stared at the elder Elf in shock. "You…what? But why?"

"It was not meant to happen. We had been pretending to fight at the top of some stairs so that someone would pay attention to us," Elrohir replied. "I got a bit…rough, and pushed him just a little bit too hard. He fell, and ended up with a broken wrist. If only you had been there, Legolas. He sobbed his little heart out."

"So did you when Adar had finished with you," Elladan smirked.

Elrohir shrugged, the smile that the memory had conjured not leaving his face. "That is true. But it was worth it. It gave us the attention that we had wanted all along."

"However, you must not start to get any ideas. What we just told you was a…a story, not a solution to the problems that you believe yourself to have," Elladan said, poking Legolas in the shoulder.

"Alright, so tell me a solution," the Prince countered.

"Just because your uncle is busy with work that he never had before, that does not mean at all that he has forgotten about you. He still talks with you at meals, he still puts you to bed," Elrohir said gently. "And last night, I walked past your door and heard him telling you a story. It does not sound to me as though he has forgotten you."

"Well, not. But I still liked things the way that they were before," Legolas replied. "And what about Ada?"

"We cannot really answer that," Elladan said. "The only thing we can say is that his…absence these last few days does not mean that he has stopped loving you. I don't think that it is possible for a parent to stop loving their child. All you need to do is give it-

"Time?" Legolas asked with a bitter smile.

"Exactly," Elrohir said. "I don't suppose that is what you want to hear."

The Prince turned his face away from his friends, and sighed deeply. "No, its fine. I suppose you're right. I suppose everyone is right. Just give it time, and then Ada will be back to normal. I just…how much time? A few days? Another week? Even a month?"

The twins smiled weakly, but both remained silent. They wanted to give the child an answer, but how could they when they themselves did not even know? They, like everyone else that Legolas had spoken to, could not help him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lord Círhael rested his head in his hands, gazing down at the top of his brother-in-law's desk, and wondering – not for the first or last time – why he had offered to take on the King's duties until all had returned to normal. He had always helped Thranduil to deal with issues that had been troublesome to resolve, and he had never been bothered by that – it had always been easy with the two of them. But now that he was on his own, he was finding it more difficult as each day went by to manage.

As he looked up and began to sort through one of the many mounds of paper that lay in a mess before him, there was a soft knock on the door. He could not keep the frustration from his voice as he shouted out permission for whoever it was to enter the study. It was his nephew. He noticed the hurt expression that the child wore; and sighed deeply, wishing in vain that he could have sounded a little more friendly.

"Forgive me," he said gently. "I thought it was…someone else."

Legolas nodded, gazing at all of the letters and books and maps that lay spread out on the desk. "Uncle Círhael, do you have to do all of this?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I have to do your father's work until he comes back and takes over," the Elf-lord replied. "The Valar only know when that will be. I hope and pray that it will not be too long."

"So do I," Legolas said quietly.

Círhael shot the boy a sympathetic look, and nodded. "I know you do. Now, why have you graced me with your presence, pen-neth? I thought that you had lessons."

"I did, but Ameldir let me go early because I…worked well. I got full marks on my Sindarin test," Legolas replied brightly.

"Did you?" Círhael asked. "That is good. But I am afraid that you cannot stay here for much longer. As you can see, my work is not lessening, and I really must get on with it. Why not go and play with the twins?"

"I've just been in the gardens with them, and before I left, I picked these," Legolas said, holding up some flowers. "I thought that you could have them in here. They would look nice, and they would make you feel happier."

"That was a nice idea," Círhael replied. "You-

He fell silent as the door opened once more, and a servant entered the room. "My Lord," she said with a slight bow, "there is a council and it has been requested that if King Thranduil cannot be there, you must go in his stead."

Cursing, Círhael leapt to his feet, knocking a pile of papers to the floor as he did so. "Damn it! Legolas, can you pick those up for me? Yes, I knew there was a meeting, I knew there was something else that I had to do, but it slipped my mind, and…"

As his uncle left the room in a rush, the young Prince rolled his eyes, and threw the flowers onto the desk. That had not worked. That had not worked at _all. _But he would receive the attention that he wanted, somehow…

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Círhael sat in silence, listening with only one ear as the dark haired Elf on his right hand side explained something about river tolls to the rest of the advisors. He was not needed at all! So far, there had been no irritated words, no raised voices, no angry looks, and even better, no clashed opinions that would take an age and a half to resolve. He was contemplating whether or not he would be able to slip away, when the large doors to the council hall opened, and the soft padding of small feet was heard.

'_Ai Valar, not now,' _the Elf-lord thought. _'Please, not now…'_

The Elf who had been speaking, Vehiron, shut his mouth without protest, but was unable to prevent frustration from creeping across his face as a familiar golden haired child came and stood before the long table. He sat down once more, shuffling his papers meaningfully; and with an exasperated sigh, glared over them at the newcomer.

"This is not a good time," one of the other advisors murmured.

Círhael let out a deep breath, and shook his head at his nephew. "Legolas, you are not allowed to disturb your father whilst he is in meetings, so why is this different?"

"It isn't, not really," the Prince replied, glancing around at the elder Elves as he spoke. "Only…you're very busy, aren't you? I thought that I might be able to help you somehow."

"Sorry," Círhael sighed. "You cannot. The best thing that you can do is leave."

"Please let me do something," Legolas said earnestly. "I won't get in your way, I promise. All I want to do is help you. And you _are_ busy."

"Has this what it has come to?" Vehiron suddenly asked, his voice scornful. "A child helping to run Mirkwood? This is ridiculous. No, little one, there is nothing for you here. I am sure you have other productive things to do. Run along, why don't you?"

"No, I'll decide when I go," the Elfling replied. "I'm the Prince, remember?"

Círhael raised a hand to his mouth to hide the smile that was forming; and all around the table, other Elves were doing the very same thing, or averting their eyes so that they did not have to see the scandalized expression that Vehiron wore. Legolas, however, glared at the advisor for another few seconds, before turning back to his uncle.

"Well?" he asked hopefully. "Is there anything?"

"I suppose so, but you may not like it," Círhael answered.

"I don't mind," Legolas said quickly.

"Very well," the Elf-lord nodded. "Leave us. I know that you only want to help, and I appreciate that. But you are _not_ helping us. You are bothering us. Just go and do something else."

The Prince stared in shock, forcing himself to ignore the soft laughter of Vehiron. "I…alright, if I'm bothering you, then I…I'll just go, I…"

"Thank you," Círhael said softly.

Legolas turned on his heel, and left the council room as quickly as he could. Tears had gathered in his eyes, and as he pushed through the doors, he raised a hand to swipe them angrily away. He wouldn't cry. But it was hard not to with his uncle's words in his mind: _you are bothering us_. All he had wanted to do was help.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **That's true, and hopefully he'll be able to see it soon enough!

**Irish Anor: **It's easy to be mad at him because of what he's doing to Legolas, but at the same time, it's really easy to feel bad for him, because we know a little about his reasons, whereas Círhael and Legolas and the rest of them don't.

**Legolas-gurl88: **Yay for KOH!

**Lilan: **Unfortunately there wasn't much of him in this chapter – hardly any, actually! – but there definitely is a lot more of him in the next few chapters! And yes, you're definitely right about the anger being directed at himself.

**Theo darkstar: **I think they all need a cuddle!

**SivanShemesh: **I think its good that he knows what he's doing, because he really does want to change. If he was so blinded by grief that he couldn't see it, they'd really be screwed!

**Kel: **Yep, braver than I'd be!

**Kelsey Estel: **I blushed so much when I read your review! No, I'm not a psychology major. I'm only in my first year at college, and I haven't taken a psychology lesson in my life! I don't think that I have the intelligence!

**Brazgirl: **Yes, they were. There's another one on the way, just to tie up what happened with Ithilwen's death, but that's a few chapters away yet.

**Elven Kitten: **Yeah, it'll probably be sad for a while more!

**Utsuri: **Yes, he is trying to understand, but I think that, no matter how hard he tries, he won't be able to comprehend why this is happening. Poor him!

**Pirates of the carr: **No, not a bad thing. But I only say that because I agree with you, so maybe it is…

**Rutu: **Well, its not that they think there are enough stories with Calaen and Airëlus - its that they think both characters have been developed as much as they can be, and that they have come to the end of their journeys, so to speak. For example, Calaen killed himself so that he could be at peace; Legolas allowed him to die because that was what he wanted – in an alternate ending, Legolas would have to refuse him death, and that, considering all that Calaen has been through, would seem like cruelty on Legolas' part. However, if/when I write it, I will definitely send it to you!

I have been so stressed out lately, and that's partly why this chapter has taken a while to update. I've got my AS exams at college, and although I'm on study leave, most of my time has been taken up with studying. Things should be back on track now though, because English and French are out of the way, and I've got about a week and a half until my Media and Drama exams, so that will give me time to both update and study.

Also, I've got a really bad cold. It's the end of May, I don't want a cold! But I think it was because my friend Sophie took me to watch a rugby match the other day (which cost £7, I hasten to add!), and it was really cold and I didn't have a coat, so it was probably that!

Anyway, I'd better go, but the next chapter will be up in the next week or so.

Misto

x-x

PS: I've been getting lots of ideas for stories that I can write after this, but I need a bit of help for one of them. I know about Oropher and Thranduil travelling east to Greenwood from Lindon, and I know that Thranduil didn't become King until after his father's death, and I know that it was Thranduil and not Oropher who had the halls that we see in 'The Hobbit' built, and I also know that before Sauron settled in Greenwood, the Silvan Elves lived on the hill of Amon Lanc. Does anyone have any idea about what sort of place they lived in? I mean, was there a palace or did they have talans or what? If anyone could help, that would be great!


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, whilst Legolas was waiting for Ameldir to arrive and his lessons to begin, he thought hard. He thought about the story the twins had told him; he thought about the good and helpful deeds he had done the previous day; he thought about the lack of praise he had received – after leaving the council he had even tidied his room without being asked to, though no-one had noticed; and most of all, he thought about his plan.

'_I don't want to do this,' _he reflected. _'But I don't have much choice. All I want is for everything to go back to normal, and I don't think that will happen if everyone keeps on treating me like I don't exist.'_

As he nodded in determination, Ameldir entered the room and flashed him a warm smile. He felt a stab of guilt as he smiled back, but he said nothing. Part of him was screaming to just admit everything before he put his plan into action. But no, he couldn't. He had to stick to what he had decided. And if starting with his kindly tutor was the way it turned out…so be it.

"You are here early," Ameldir commented, putting his books on the table. "A dedicated student, that is what I like."

"I wasn't hungry, so I left breakfast early and came straight here," Legolas replied.

"Breakfast is important and should not be missed, especially by Elflings who have a hard day of work ahead of them," Ameldir said with a smile. "Oh, and before I forget…what did your father say when you told him about your full marks, if you do not mind my asking?"

"I didn't see him," Legolas admitted. "He…he didn't let me in."

The tutor stopped what he was doing to smile sympathetically at his student. "I am sorry to hear that. But do not jump to any conclusions, pen-neth. I can think of many reasons why he did not let you in."

"I can't," Legolas said bitterly.

"Maybe he was asleep," Ameldir suggested.

"Not in the afternoon. That's a silly time to sleep."

"Maybe he did not hear you knocking."

"He did. I know he did."

"Have you considered that maybe he was not in his rooms at all?"

Legolas laughed, and shook his head. "I know that he was in there. He hasn't left them for days."

"Very well. We cannot discuss this all day," Ameldir replied. "We have a lesson to begin. Now, I thought that to start off with, we would go over the work that I set you to do yesterday. May I have a look at it?"

"I…No."

The tutor snapped his eyes up, stunned, and stared at the Elfling. "No? Why not? Do you not have it with you?"

Legolas nodded his head slowly, keeping his gaze averted. "That's right. I don't have it with me."

"I see. Then, did you forget to bring it with you?"

"No. Not exactly."

Ameldir was silent for a moment, but as he realised what was being implied, he sighed deeply. "Legolas, did you even _do _the work that I set for you?"

"No."

"Alright, well…you have been honest, that is something," the tutor said slowly. "And maybe I was asking too much of you. After all, you have only just commenced your lessons after…and I suppose there was a lot to do, and-

"No, that's not it," Legolas cut in. He looked up, locking his blue eyes onto the elder Elf's green ones, and taking a deep breath before continuing: "I didn't do the work because I just didn't feel like it. It was boring and stupid, and I had more interesting things to do. You can have it back. I don't want it."

"And the book that I gave you?" Ameldir asked, struggling to keep his voice level. "Did you even look at that?"

"Oh yes, I looked at that," Legolas said brightly. "I looked at it and decided that it was even more boring than the written work, so I threw it on the floor."

Ameldir was silent for a moment, staring in shock. He had never heard the Prince speak in such a way before. Shaking himself mentally he stood quickly, and still without a word, picked up a large leather bound book, and after flicking to the page that he wanted, threw it down before his student. It crashed against the surface of the table, and he kept his face impassive as the Elfling flinched nervously.

"What's that for?" Legolas asked.

"I think that today we will practice handwriting," Ameldir replied, sitting once more, and dipping his quill into ink. "You are going to copy from that book until I decide that you have done enough, and I am going to write a letter to your uncle. Start now, please."

The child swallowed, and glanced down at the large book, scanning the long words - most of which he had never seen before. "Ameldir, I…I don't understand what this says."

"That is not a problem," the tutor replied coolly. "You are practicing your writing skills, not your reading."

"I'm not stupid!" Legolas said, his voice rising with anger. "I know how to write!"

"No, you do not. You know how to scrawl untidily, and there is a very big difference between the two," Ameldir answered. "Start writing. I do not wish to tell you again. The sooner you start, the sooner you can finish."

"And when will that be?"

The elder Elf leaned over, and with a flick of his hand, skipped a few pages. "The chapter ends here. It is a lot, but if your script improves from the practice, you will thank me."

"That's not fair," Legolas said quietly. "At least give me something that I understand."

"No. What isn't fair is that I trusted you yesterday, and now you have shown that I will not be able to do so again for a very long time," Ameldir replied. "This is your fault, not mine."

"I'm sorry!" Legolas said desperately.

"So am I," the tutor answered, with a shake of his head. "So am I."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

With a quick glance up and down one of the royal family's private corridors to make sure that he was alone, Lord Elrond produced a silver key from the pocket of his robes, and quickly inserted it into the elaborate keyhole. He turned it once, and the door to the rooms of the Elven-king swung open without a single noise to give away the Peredhil's presence. The King himself had been seated on a long sofa, trying – or actually only pretending to try to – read a book, but as soon as the opening door caught his attention, he was on his feet in a flash, eyes narrowed as he glared suspiciously at the intruder.

"Why are you here?" he asked, unable to keep the bite of annoyance from his voice. "I locked the doors."

"You did," Elrond agreed. "However, Círhael lent me his master key, so I used that. Why he does not use it to let himself in to see you, I can only imagine. Mayhap it is because of the large amounts of work that he now has to do…"

"I asked why _you_ are here," Thranduil said coldly.

"I came for a number of reasons. Firstly, it is dull when there are few Elves to speak with; and it gets rather lonely," Elrond replied. "Secondly, I do not visit Mirkwood often, and on this occasion, you and I have seen very little of each other. Thirdly, I-

"Only one reason would have been sufficient," the Elven-king cut in, sitting once more.

"Thirdly, I thought that you could do with the company. After all, you have been locked away in here for a few days now," Elrond continued. "Fourthly, I have offered you my help, and so far my services have been useless. And lastly, I was anxious to see how you fare."

"No, you wanted to check up on me," Thranduil laughed humourlessly. "I know you. You are a healer. You cannot deny that the need to evaluate my health brought you up here."

The Peredhil made a vague gesture with his hands, and nodded towards the sofa. "May I?"

"Feel free."

"Thranduil, you are right – I am a healer. And yes, I am worried because you have spent days in here alone without contact with other Elves," Elrond said slowly, as he sat down. "Grief and solitude – especially _this _extreme – are dangerous to your health. You seem fine to me, although outward appearances can be deceiving."

"I am fine…"

Elrond smiled as the younger Elf unconsciously crossed his arms over his chest, and pulled against himself. "So you say. May I try something with you? I should like to prove my point."

After a non-committal noise from the King he leaned forwards, and without a word, clamped his hand on his friend's shoulder. Thranduil watched impassively, silently asking questions as to what was happening, and why. But then the pressure suddenly increased. Elrond's fingers pressed down hard, and as pain shot down his arm he could not help but draw in a sharp breath, and jerk himself away.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"Did it pain you?" Elrond asked calmly.

"No," the King snapped back. "You merely caught me off my guard."

"I see. Well, there is one more thing I would like to try." The Imladris Lord stood, and smiled briefly. "You need not look so annoyed. Now, give me your hand."

Thranduil was silent for a moment, but then with a most un-kingly roll of his eyes – he thought the exercise childish and without point – he held out his left hand. He did not expect Elrond to grip it, and with a sharp tug pull him forcefully to his feet. The sudden movement was a shock, and his vision went momentarily black. Unconsciously, he reached out to grab the front of the other Elf's robes; but if he had worried about falling, there was no need – it would not have been allowed.

"How do you feel?" Elrond asked softly.

"I…I don't…" Shaking his head to recover himself, Thranduil jerked his hand back, and hissed: "Why did you do that?"

"Because you have become weak, yet you could not see it," the Peredhil replied. "If I had done that to your shoulder a month ago, you may have thought me mad, but it would have bothered you little. And if I had tried to pull you like I just did, you would have resisted. But you did nothing."

"I am not weak," Thranduil spat.

"You never used to be, but so you are becoming," Elrond said quietly. "Did I not just prove it?"

The Elven-king sank back onto the sofa and leaned forwards, resting his hurting head in his hands. "Forgive me. I just…nothing makes sense to me anymore. I do not understand, and I…I do not know."

"There is nothing to forgive…"

"Early this morning I was woken by a dream. What I remember most vividly is that when I awoke, my eyes opened," Thranduil continued softly. "To have opened, they must have been shut. But it should not have been so."

"Has this happened before?"

The Sinda shook his head, and drew in a deep breath. "Today was not the first time. Elrond, you know that I have not left these rooms. I stay here partly because of the grief and guilt which will not leave me, but also because I…I am afraid."

The Peredhil was silent for a moment, wondering. He had never known his proud friend to admit to fear. With a sigh he sat down, and gently touched the younger Elf's shoulder. "What are you afraid of?"

"Fading."

"I will tell you no lies, because you have to know the truth," Elrond said softly. "You _will _fade if something is not done now. Grief has already touched your heart. But it will not take you. We will save you."

"Will you keep this to yourself?" the King asked suddenly.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

Elrond could not help but laugh at that. "I should have known. But very well, if you want this to be kept a secret, I respect that. I will tell no-one. But now I would ask a question of you: are you going to accept the help that I can give? Or are you going to refuse it?"

"I told myself that I could come back from darkness on my own, but now I know otherwise," Thranduil said quietly. "Help me, Elrond. Help me to come back."

"I will."

"I have to fight this. Not just for myself," the King sighed, "but for Legolas. I know that since Ithilwen's death I seem only to have made things worse for him. But nevertheless, he cannot lose me as well as his mother."

"He misses you," Elrond murmured.

"And I miss him," Thranduil answered. "I miss him so much."

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

Later that afternoon, it was with a very heavy heart indeed that Legolas went to his uncle and gave him the letter. Funnily enough, behaving horribly in his lessons had been easy, easier than he had thought it would be. What he had found hard, though, was the hurt expression that Ameldir had worn, the tense atmosphere that had been present in the room. His tutor was one of his favourite Elves – which is something that not many children can say -, and it very much upset him that he had treated him in such a way.

As Círhael finished reading the letter, he shook his head sadly. "Legolas, can you explain this to me? Why did you behave so badly for Ameldir?"

"I only told him the truth, and that isn't bad," the Prince replied.

"I see. So, he set you work, and you did not do it," Círhael said slowly. "Will you tell me what you told him?"

"I didn't do the work because it was dull and stupid and I had more interesting things to do," Legolas answered. "And I threw the book on the floor because it looked even more boring than the papers that he had given me."

Angered, Círhael slammed his hand on top of the desk. "That is no excuse! The work that you are given is mandatory. You cannot decide what you will and will not do."

"Can," Legolas said sulkily. "I did last night."

"Yes, you did, but unfortunately for you, you made the wrong decision, and there are consequences for that," the Elf-lord replied. "First of all, you are going to write a letter to Ameldir, apologising for your behaviour. And then, you are going to do every bit of the work that he set for you."

Legolas shook his head, and kicked angrily at the floor. "No! You can't punish me, because you're not my ada."

"That makes no difference," Círhael said coldly. "And until your father returns, I am responsible for you, so that means I can punish you as I see fit. Now, I want you to go and do as you have been told. If you are still in my sight by the time I have counted to ten, you will be sent to bed without dinner."

The young Prince glared for a moment, before spinning on his heel and storming from the room. As the door slammed shut, Círhael's stern expression was replaced by one of concern. That had never happened before. His nephew had always been a little mischievous, but badly behaved? He would not have believed it if he had not just witnessed some of it himself. But there was no time to dwell on Legolas' temper tantrum – there was work to do.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

That evening just before dinner, Círhael tool Legolas outside the palace walls so that he could deliver his now completed work to Ameldir, whose home was in a nearby settlement. But despite the short distance, as they walked under the trees, the Elfling felt as though there was no choice but to hold tightly to his uncle's hand. The mournful creaking of the trees right next to his ear, and the oppressive darkness, was not something that he liked at all.

"There it is," Círhael murmured, as a small house came into view.

"Do I have to go by myself?" Legolas asked.

"If you mean do you have to make your own apologies, the answer is yes. However, I will come with you to the door," the Elf-lord replied, nudging his nephew forwards. "Remember to be polite."

The younger Elf nodded, glancing uneasily at the surrounding trees as they walked forwards. "I'm glad that I live in the palace. I would be afraid if I lived out here."

"This settlement is very close to the palace, within walking distance, as you know. Not only is it protected by the power of the Elves, but all of these areas are patrolled by soldiers who make sure that all is well," Círhael replied. "Funnily enough, I am not in a talkative mood tonight, and I would have thought that you would have the good grace to feel at least a little bit ashamed of what you did today. Now, are you going to knock on the door or are we going to stand here all night?"

Stung, Legolas pulled his hand away and raised it to knock quickly on the wooden door. As they waited for it to open, he could not help but feel that Círhael's coldness was without reason. He really _was _ashamed of what he had done, but he knew his reasons, and he believed them to be good. He did not think that trying to find ways to spend more than a few minutes with his loved ones was a crime.

The door opened, and as Ameldir looked at his visitors, his eyes widened in surprise. "Lord Círhael, Prince Legolas…what can I do for you? Would you like to come inside?"

"Thank you for your offer. We appreciate it, but our evening meal will be served soon," the elder of the two replied. "However, my nephew has something that he would like to say to you."

The Elfling stepped forwards, and passed Ameldir the completed papers, along with the book and the letter of apology. "Yes, I…I'm very sorry for my behaviour today. I didn't mean to make you angry or disappointed, but I think that I did both. I've done all of the work for you, and I hope it makes up for…well…everything, even though it's late."

Hiding a smile, Ameldir knelt before the child and touched a hand to his shoulder. "Yes, it does, and I accept your apology. Thank you for coming to see me, pen-neth."

"And I also wanted to say, please don't stop trusting me. It will never happen again, I promise," Legolas continued. "I still want to be friends with you. Can we?"

"You are lucky that I am a forgiving individual," Ameldir replied with a smile. He stood, and turning to the other Elf, inclined his head. "Thank you for bringing him. You did not have to."

"No thanks is needed," Círhael replied. "Forgive me, but we must leave now. I fear that if we are late, Lord Elrond's sons will take the best food."

The tutor nodded, and smiled down at his Prince. "In that case, I will see you tomorrow. Goodbye."

As the door closed and they began to walk away, Legolas reached up to slip his small hand into his uncle's larger one. "I've done everything now. Ameldir isn't angry at me any more, so will you be nice to be now?"

"Yes, I will be _nice_. Now that you have made amends, I think that we can forget what happened today," Círhael replied. "Just promise me that you will be good from now on. It will make life easier for us all."

"I promise. I don't think that I want to be naughty again anyway," Legolas said slowly. "I don't like everyone being mad at me."

And that was the truth. Committing the crime had been easy enough, but its repercussions had been horrible for him. The young Prince was more than glad that it was over with, and had decided that there had to be some way other than bad behaviour to change things. There was, and he would find it out only too soon.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Aranel of Mirkwood: **Hopefully he'll be able to soon enough with Elrond's help!

**SivanShemesh: **He needs lots of hugs, doesn't he, the poor little Elfling!

**Kelsey Estel: **Cool, thanks for your help!

**Barbara Kennedy: **Yeah, you might want to be careful about hugging Thranduil. I don't think he'd be particularly impressed at the moment!

**JediGollum: **Hmm, I don't know; I just wrote it without thinking. You decide!

**ElvenKitten: **Yeah, it is very good that he has the twins to talk to. But then, it could be bad, because they're putting silly ideas into his little head.

**Legolas-gurl88: **Well, Círhael is very nice, but he's beginning to get a little bit stressed out with everything that he has to cope with. I think they all need hugs!

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **I don't think there's really any telling what poor Legolas will do at the moment, he's so confused.

**Cute Little Legolas: **Glad you enjoy, thanks for reviewing!

**Kel: **Hehe, there'll be some more of Legolas and that advisor next chapter!

**Irish Anor: **Gotta love dramatic irony! Hehe, my English lecturer would be proud!

**Utsuri: **Yeah, that was fun! There'll be a bit more of that next chapter.

**Rutu: **Let's hope so!

Wow, it was the season finale last night of 'Desperate Housewives'! The loose ends were totally not tied up! It was left with Susan and Mike held at gunpoint! Oh no, I have to know what happens, but it's not back until next year! However, I've got eleven weeks of 'Big Brother', so that's great! Thirteen mad housemates. They're even madder than last year's lot! And yay, first eviction tomorrow! Can't wait!

It's not good that I get this worked up over television.

Anyway, next chapter will be up in the next week,

Misto

x-x


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, as Legolas made his way from his lessons – which had been most enjoyable now that he and Ameldir were friends once more – his path led him past his father's study. For the last few days he had taken no notice of it, fully aware that the King was not in there. But today, it was impossible not to let his attention be drawn to it. The door was ajar, and from inside the room, he could hear voices raised in what sounded like an argument.

'_Maybe Ada has come back,' _the Prince thought hopefully.

Tucking his books under one arm, he crept forwards as silent as a summer's breeze through the woods, and peered around the door. As quickly as his hopes had risen, they fell again, for he looked not on the King, but on some advisors – Vehiron at their center – who were heatedly debating whether or not a set of twenty brand new bows could be made in only a week. How dull.

Rolling his eyes, Legolas turned to leave and let the adults continue with their arguments – which he thought to be very childish – when a sneering comment from Vehiron reached his ears. With a sharp intake of breath he spun back on his heel, and pushing the door open so that it slammed against the wall, he stormed into the room, his normally sparkling eyes flashing with a sudden anger.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"My Prince, what might you be doing here?" Vehiron asked.

"What did you say?" Legolas repeated forcefully. "No, don't tell me. You said that 'yesterday's intrusion by the bratty Prince was a waste of your valuable time'. Why was it? From what I could see, no-one was listening to you."

Vehiron narrowed his eyes, and threw his papers down onto the desk. "That is no way to speak to your elders. Have you not been taught manners?"

"What about you?" Legolas asked incredulously. "That is no way to speak to the son of your King."

"Ah yes, the _King_…"

"Be quiet," one of the younger advisors said sharply. "This is not the time or the place."

"No? And, why not? Surely it is right for the little Prince to know the truth?" Vehiron challenged.

From the corner of his eye Legolas saw the young advisor slip from the room, but he paid little attention to it. "I may be younger than you," he said coldly, "but the fact that I'm just an Elfling won't matter when I tell my uncle and my ada about this."

"And where is your ada?" Vehiron asked softly.

Feredir, a dark haired Elf who was not at all friendly with the outspoken advisor, spoke up angrily. "What are you doing? This is no way to treat a child, especially the Prince. I suggest that you leave before you say something that you will later regret."

"What is regrettable about the truth?" Vehiron countered.

"Prince Legolas, would you like me to take you to your uncle?" Feredir asked gently, holding out a hand.

"Thank you, but I…" The Elfling shook his head, gazing at the advisors in confusion. "What truth? I don't understand."

"So he _does_ want to know," Vehiron laughed. He looked down, and smiled. "The people of Mirkwood grow uneasy without your father to rule over them. They say: what is the use of a King when he does nothing for his subjects? And that is so very true. Thranduil is now proving what was thought years ago, when Oropher was lost: he will never be the Elf that his father was, he will never be the King."

"Don't say that!" Legolas snapped. "Ada is the greatest King that Mirkwood has ever had, and will ever have."

Vehiron shook his head, leaning down to murmur in the Elfling's ear: "The greatest King? If that is so, why then, does he use Queen Ithilwen's death as an excuse to shirk his duties? Why does he pretend to grieve, whilst our workload is doubled without him?"

"You could be arrested for those words!" Feredir spat. "And not one of them is true. You are still bitter, all these years later, because you were Oropher's chief councillor, but when Thranduil became King, he chose another to replace you. Take back what you have said!"

Stunned, Legolas put his hands onto the desk to steady himself. It wasn't true, he did not need Feredir to confirm that; but as he had listened to Vehiron, tears of anger had gathered in his eyes. But he blinked them back determinedly. They would not fall, not whilst he still stood before the one who had so insulted his father. As he drew in a deep breath to try and calm himself, his gaze fell on the papers that had been thrown onto the desk. On each piece there were four columns, and in each column, there were long lines of large numbers running all the way from the top of the page to the bottom. He may not have understood their meaning, but the Prince could see that they were important.

Suddenly, as quick as a flash, his hand shot out and he grabbed a bottle of ink that lay just within reach. Pulling it towards the edge of the desk, he whipped off the top; and with a triumphant smile, turned it upside down over the papers. As thick black ink spilled all over them, rendering them nearly unreadable, Vehiron let out a cry of rage, his eyes blazing furiously.

"What have you done, child?" he growled.

"Here, have them back!" Legolas spat, throwing the papers to the advisor. His green robes were immediately covered in ink, and the Prince laughed. "It serves you right. No-one is horrible about Ada. Apologise for what you said."

"You have some nerve," Vehiron snapped.

Legolas shrugged, and picked up another ink bottle – this one containing blue liquid. "Apologise, or I will throw this one at you as well. Ink stains are hard to wash out, aren't they?"

"Might I suggest that you put that down? Perhaps it would be best if…" Feredir trailed into silence as his young Prince shot him a glare worthy of one of Thranduil's best. "No, never mind, then."

"Apologise, Vehiron!" Legolas shouted. "Take back what you said!"

The advisor was silent for a moment; but then, his mind made up that he would rather cut off his own hand than obey a child - be the child in question Prince or no – he turned to leave. But as he went to the door, two things happened, and both shocked him equally. Firstly, Legolas threw the ink at his back, and the sticky liquid made its way uncomfortably inside his robes; secondly, Círhael entered the room, with the younger advisor just behind.

What, for the love of the Valar, is happening here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. "I want an explanation. Now!"

"The Prince lost his temper," Vehiron replied quietly.

As his anger faded away, the tears returned to Legolas' eyes. "I did, uncle, but it was his fault, he-

"I do not want to hear a word from you yet," Círhael snapped. "Vehiron, I suggest that you go home and clean yourself up. Feredir, I am sure you are needed elsewhere."

"This ink will not be easy to remove," Vehiron scoffed. "These are good robes, and expensive. Now look at them! And what of my work? I spent two hours on these numbers, and I cannot do them again."

"I will take care of everything," Círhael answered. "Now please, all three of you, leave."

Vehiron glared at Legolas for a moment, before turning on his heel and sweeping from the room with as much dignity as possible – considering that he was covered in blue and black ink, he actually managed rather well. The younger advisor and Feredir followed quietly, but as the latter passed Círhael, he murmured: "The Prince was provoked."

"I do not think," Círhael said in a low voice, kicking the door shut, "that I have _ever_ been more disappointed or angry with you."

"It wasn't my fault," Legolas whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Not your fault? How dare you say that when I saw you doing it? I will not hear denial or excuses from you!" Círhael exploded. "You are in enough trouble as it is already, so do not make more for yourself."

The Prince sniffed, and with the hand that wasn't holding a bottle, pulled it across his eyes, at the same time leaving an ink stain on his cheek. "But you didn't hear what Vehiron said. He called me 'bratty', and that made me mad because I'm not. And then he-

"I said no excuses!" Círhael snapped.

"Listen to me!" Legolas screamed. Raising his hand, he threw the ink bottle to the ground, and it shattered into pieces.

As the little Prince, consumed once more with anger, began to push papers and books from the desk, Círhael took three steps forwards and grabbed his wrist. Pulling the child back around to face him, he gripped the slender shoulders tightly and shook hard, ignoring the tears that spilled. In his eyes, he was merely dealing with a bad tempered Elfling.

"Let go of me!" Legolas shouted, curling his hands into fists, and beating against his uncle's chest. "Let go of me, let go of me! Why won't you listen to me?"

"Stop this," Círhael said sharply, pulling away slightly so that he was out of reach of the child's fists. But as the kicking started, his eyes flashed furiously. Making a noise of anger, the Elf-lord raised his hand, and brought it against his nephew's cheek. The slap was not hard, nor intended to hurt, but it stung enough to shock the Prince into silence.

Stunned, Legolas went still in Círhael's grasp, but the realisation of what had happened hit only a second later. Trembling, he sank to his knees. The tears continued to flow from his eyes, but now they were silent. The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of the two Elves, as they both waited for the other to make some attempt to speak. From the flickering emotions in his eyes, Círhael, it seemed, was as shocked as his nephew at what he had just done.

"Look around you," he said eventually. "Who must clear this? Me. Who will have to pay for new robes for Vehiron? Me. And who has to spend two hours tonight doing this ruined work? Me. Thank you, Legolas. I hope that you are satisfied."

"I'm sorry for what you have to do," the Prince said quietly. "But I'm not sorry for what I did to Vehiron. He deserved it."

Círhael pulled the Elfling to his feet, and pushed him towards the door. "Get out of my sight, child. I do not wish to see you even at the dining table tonight – I have had enough of you."

Legolas drew in a sharp breath and let it out again, brushing helplessly at his eyes. "Don't send me away, I haven't done anything wrong. You didn't hear what he-

"Go!"

With a noise of distress, the Elfling turned and fled, tears blurring his vision as he ran. In the study, Círhael was silent, taking a moment to calm himself. He was angry at Legolas, but as he gazed around the room, and took in the papers and books and maps either fallen to the floor or in untidy piles on the desk, his eyes narrowed. If he looked beneath the surface of all that had just taken place, he could see that the fault was not his nephew's…it was Thranduil's.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Lord Elrond looked over the rim of his wine goblet, and smiled as he watched Thranduil forcing down the soup that had been brought up by a servant. The portion had been small, but it mattered not – it was more than was normally eaten. The King had not been impressed, but after a few reproving words from his friend, he had fallen silent and conceded. Though, even now that he had finished, he was still glaring disdainfully at the empty bowl.

"Was that so hard?" Elrond asked.

"I have tasted better," Thranduil replied dismissively.

"I doubt that. As soon as you recover, you will be able to appreciate the taste of food once more," the Imladris Lord said. "I am sure the cook will be most disappointed to hear that you disliked her-

The door swung open, cutting him off half way through his sentence. Círhael burst into the room, his normally peaceful eyes blazing furiously; and his face reminiscent of a stormy day in Mordor as he strode over to the sofa that the other two Elves were seated on. In his hands he held Vehiron's stained papers, and with a noise of anger, threw them at his brother-in-law. Thranduil caught them, and looked up in surprise.

"What-

"Do you really not know what you are doing?" Círhael spat. "To yourself, to me, to your people, to your son…"

"What do you mean?" Thranduil questioned, as he rose and stood before the elder Elf. "Is anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Yes, most definitely. I came up here expecting to find you taking this time to grieve and adjust yourself to losing your wife," Círhael snapped. "Instead, I see that you are using your loss as a chance to live a life free of work and duty, whilst everyone else is left to pick up the pieces."

"How dare you?" Thranduil challenged. "Do you really think that I am using Ithilwen's death for that?"

"Before today, no. But now…I do not know," Círhael replied. "But whatever you are doing and for whatever reasons, the consequences fall on those who do not deserve them. You are playing with _my _life, making _me_ do your work for you, and that makes me angrier than you can imagine. And then there is Legolas…"

"What of him?" Thranduil asked quickly.

"You are destroying his life!"

As the shouted words left his lips, the Elf-lord, without a moment's hesitation, struck his brother-in-law across the face. Elrond was on his feet immediately, and jumping behind Thranduil, grabbed the back of his tunic to keep him steady. He could feel the trembling of his friend's body underneath his hands, and shaking his head angrily, he glared at Círhael, his eyes flashing.

Thranduil raised the back of his hand to his lips, and when he drew it away, there was a line of blood staining it. "I am destroying my son's life?" he asked softly.

The elder Elf nodded once, his eyes cold. "Yes. And that I cannot forgive."

"I…what do you…"

"I think that an explanation is in order," Elrond said sharply.

"You speak the truth, I should have explained first. I apologise for that," Círhael replied. He paused, and glanced at his brother-in-law. "However, that apology does not cover my act of violence towards you."

Thranduil nodded, and touched the edge of his sleeve to his lower lip. "Maybe I deserved it. But please, tell me of Legolas. I have to know that he is well."

"Since you began shutting yourself away, his behaviour has become awful," Círhael sighed. "I would never have thought him capable of it, but I have been proved wrong. However…although it is he who commits the crimes, you are the one at fault, not him. Your absence is changing him. But how can he be blamed when his father refuses to see him?"

"How is he changing?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"He has become stubborn, bad-tempered, violent," Círhael answered. "The list is long. And I have no choice but to punish him, because otherwise I will be condoning what he does. You have to come back. I need you. Your son needs you."

The Elven-king looked away, and nodded slowly. "I know. But it is hard."

"Why is it hard?" Círhael asked. "I know that you are still grieving. But you have to move on."

"How can I move on just like _that_?" Thranduil demanded, snapping his fingers to punctuate the word. "You may have already forgotten Ithilwen, but I have not."

Círhael stepped forwards and grabbed the front of his brother-in-law's tunic, pulling him close. "Don't you dare try and pretend that your love for her was greater than mine. She was my sister long before she became your wife!"

"Stop this, both of you," Elrond said sternly. He pulled the two Mirkwood Elves away from each other, and held them still. "Quarrelling like children will get you nowhere. So I suggest that Círhael, you control your temper, and Thranduil…you do the same. You are both as bad as each other."

"I meant what I said," Círhael continued, as though he had not heard the words. "You have to move on, because if you cannot do it now, you never will."

"Tell me how, then," Thranduil ground out. "How did _you_ do it?"

"Ithilwen is dead. She is dead, and nothing can change that," the Elf-lord said softly. "But you…you remain here with the rest of your life to live, with a kingdom to rule, with people who need you, and with a beautiful son to love and care for. Your wife may have departed, but you have not. Stop carrying the weight of the dead. Move on with your life. It is what she would want."

"You make it sound easy, and maybe it was for you," Thranduil snapped. "But the knowledge of what I did is still fresh in my mind, and always will be. I have tried to move on, believe me I have. But I cannot."

"You speak always of what you did, and guilt," Círhael said slowly. "But I fail to understand what you mean by that. Why guilt? It was Orcs who stole her life."

The Elven-king looked up, and shook his head once. "Orcs? No. It was me, Círhael. I killed her."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**MCross: **Yeah, it's very good that Círhael is there, but he's starting to feel the pressure, as was shown in this chapter. Oh no, hospital? How so!

**Pippin the hobbit-elf: **Good to hear from you again, mellon-nin!

**Kelsey Estel: **Season finales never seem to help, do they? Well, season one of Lost hasn't even started in Britain yet, and I really want to see it!

**Lilan: **Yes, he is definitely very considerate, which I think is very good; but unfortunately, he can get mad at times – as we saw in this chapter with Vehiron. Oops. Possibly not the best move he could've made!

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **Yeah, I think only Elrond would've been able to manage it.

**Rutu: **Unfortunately he lost his temper in this chapter, and earned Círhael's anger without even planning it. Poor little guy!

**Lombadia Greenleaf: **Yep, I've seen KOH! Very good, and Orlando's acting has improved greatly. I've seen a few pictures from the new Willy Wonka film, and um…I'm not sure. I don't think it'll be as good as the original, even with Johnny Depp in it!

**Utsuri: **Hehe, bad things always happen in my stories! Ok, that could be bad thing…

**Elven Kitten: **I'm going to start counting how many times I make people cry!

**Legolas-gurl88: **I had an encounter with a spider earlier. Not nice. I'll tell you about it when I e-mail you later!

**SivanShemesh: **Lucky you, being in Rome!

**Irish Anor: **Cyber hugs are good, I'm sure Legolas would appreciate one!

**Brazgirl: **Don't worry, it will soon enough!

**JediGollum: **Yeah, maybe not such a good idea, though.

**Kel: **Unfortunately, it was. But it wasn't planned this time, so that kind of makes a difference. Right?

Sorry that this took a bit longer to update. I received some bad news the other day, and am still adjusting myself to it. On top of that, I've had exams, but I've finished them now. Oh, by the way…in my media exam, for the adventure part of the exam, guess what film they showed us to write about? FOTR! I was so happy when I read the question!

Anyway, see you all soon,

Misto

x-x


	8. Chapter 8

Círhael stared at his brother-in-law in silence, shocked at the sudden revelation. He shook his fair head slowly, and said softly, "You…you killed… No, you didn't. I saw her wounds; they were caused by the weapons of the Orcs, you… I don't understand."

"I wish that I could say otherwise, but I will lie no more," Thranduil replied quietly. "I killed her."

"Stop it!" Círhael hissed. "What you are saying is folly, and I do not wish to hear it."

With a sigh the King shook his head, and sat down on the sofa. "But you do. Have you forgotten our conversation on the day of Ithilwen's burial? You asked me to speak of my troubles. I would have done, had we not been interrupted by Legolas. You have known for days that I am keeping something from you. Surely you wish to be put out of your misery."

"Tell me what you will," Círhael replied, his voice softer now.

"On the day that we were in the forest, we were alone. We wanted to spend time in each other's company without being watched and heavily guarded, so we – foolishly – refused to take an escort," Thranduil began slowly. "As Ithilwen spoke, I paid little attention. I could sense that not all was well. Danger was close. Orcs. I knew that flight would not save us – we were too far from the palace."

"You should not have been alone," Círhael muttered.

"But we were. We sought shelter in separate trees so that our scents would be divided. Nature was on our side. Then the Orcs came into the clearing," Thranduil sighed. "As they did, I noticed that the sash of Ithilwen's dress had not been pulled into hiding. Valar, no-one could have missed it. The Orcs…"

"Go on…"

The Elven-king leaned forwards, and rested his head in his hands. "They pulled her from the tree, and threw her around the group. She tried to fight. One of them struck her with a sword hilt. There was blood…so much blood from just one wound."

Elrond touched a hand to Círhael's shoulder, and nodded towards the sofa. "Sit down. You are pale."

"I am fine," the Sinda murmured. "Fine…"

"They beat her, and damn it, I did nothing!" Thranduil snapped, tangling his hands in his own hair. "I wanted to but I was frozen, held still by fear and horror. I had no weapons - a beech had concealed them from sight of the Orcs. I…I watched as they pulled and pushed her; and it was only when they began to rip at her dress that I moved. I knew what their intentions were. So, I jumped."

**Flashback**

"Thranduil!"

Even before the cry left his wife's bloodied lips, the King had leapt from the tree, unsure of what to do but adamant that he would stop the torture. His feet touched the ground without a noise, but still the Orcs saw him. He was pounced on from all sides, grabbed by dirty black hands and forced to his knees. With a yell of rage, he threw his fists into as many jeering faces as he could. But he was only one Elf. It mattered not that he was a warrior to be feared, for he was overpowered, helpless as his arms were pinned behind his back.

"It's another of the pretty ones," an Orc shouted. "What shall we do with it? Keep it for sport?"

One of the larger creatures shook his head violently, and grinned. "Not just that one. Both of them! We will make the fair ones scream!"

Thranduil ground his teeth together as fear flashed across his wife's face. "They will not," he said softly. "We will escape this."

"Shut up!" an Orc yelled. "You both belong to us now."

"Help me," Ithilwen whispered, as black hands crept over her body. "Thranduil, do something, just stop them…"

The Elven-king tossed his head violently, struggling to escape from the powerful grip that he was held in. He had to save his wife, she was all that mattered. He did not wish for death, but for her life, he would welcome it. As he fought, a whip whose cruel lashes were studded with jagged spikes was snapped across his chest. His eyes flashed not in pain, but anger; and he glared at the Orc who had attacked him.

"Let her go," he said in a low voice. "Release her."

"Silence!"

Thranduil glanced at his wife, and his expression softened somewhat as he saw the tears staining her cheeks. "Be brave," he said softly. "Show them no fear, because they will play off it."

The Queen closed her eyes and shook her head slowly – it was an act of defeat. There was no hope for either of them. They were alone, and before long, both would be dead, slaughtered at the hands of Orcs. Their young son would be orphaned. Would he fade without his parents? Would Círhael have enough strength both to rule Mirkwood and care for Legolas with the loss of his sister and brother-in-law?

"I love you, Thranduil," Ithilwen whispered. "I love you so much, I…"

At that the Orcs broke into laughter, but it went unheeded by the Elven-king. He gazed at his wife, and shook his head. "Why do you say goodbye? This is not the end for either of us. These creatures will not win."

The Orc who had previously wielded the studded whip, snapped out a dagger and slashed it across Thranduil's cheek, leaving a jagged and bloody tear in the fair skin. "You are too defiant and arrogant for your own good. The she-elf will pay for your insolence. Then you will see that victory is not yours."

"No!"

"Thranduil!"

But their cries went unheeded. The blade of a scimitar was pushed into the Elven-queen's breast, right up to its thick hilt. Ithilwen's scream fell dead on her lips, and as fresh blood flowered on her ripped dress, a mist drifted into her eyes, and she fell forwards onto her hands. She looked up at her husband through glittering lashes, and silently mouthed the words: I love you.

For the first time in years, tears gathered in Thranduil's eyes to fall like rain. They cascaded over the knife wound on the side of his face, mixing with the blood, their salty tang stinging. But he did not even feel it as he whispered back: "And I love you."

Ithilwen fell. The Orcs laughed and shouted, and one of them grabbed Thranduil's hair, making sure that he did not look away. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. His eyes were fixed on his wife's dull, un-moving pools that had once been so bright, and as his world came crashing down around him, he knew that that image would haunt him for the rest of his life.

**End Flashback**

As silence fell, Círhael let out a deep breath and passed a hand over his eyes, brushing away the unshed tears that had gathered during the tale. He was stunned, lost for words, shocked by the first hand account of his beloved sister's death. What could he say? He didn't know. What could he think? He didn't know. For once in his life, he was powerless to make sense of what was happening.

"I am sorry – sorry that you had to hear that, sorry for the pain that I have caused, and sorry for Ithilwen," Thranduil said quietly. "But now you know."

Círhael looked down at his brother-in-law, and shook his head slowly. "Just…just be silent, I need a moment to…"

The Elven-king looked away, and closed his eyes. _'He blames you,' _he thought bitterly. _'But then, why should he not? He has every right to; I will not deny him that. After all, I-_

"Forgive me," Círhael said suddenly. "I did not mean to sound so…so…"

"I understand," Thranduil answered.

Sighing, the Elf-lord sat beside his brother-in-law, and gently touched his shoulder. "You are right – I _do_ know now. But I also know that my sister was taken by the foulest living creatures. I know that armed warriors can be slaughtered by Orcs, and that two weaponless Elves on their own are helpless. I know that you tried to save her. And I know that there was nothing you could do."

"Yes, I tried to save her, but I failed," Thranduil murmured. "I did not protect her, I failed _her_."

"You protected her as best you could at the time, and I am grateful for that. She lost her life in a cruel way, but it is some comfort to know that she was not alone," Círhael replied. "You did not save her, but nor did you fail her. You could never fail her."

"I would have died for her," Thranduil said quietly.

"You do not need to tell me that. I know you would, but what would it have done?" the elder Elf countered gently. "Your death would have been in vain, because I do not believe for one moment that they would have kept her alive. Sacrificing your life would have achieved nothing."

"After she died, our soldiers came pouring through the trees. They destroyed all of the Orcs, but Ithilwen, she was already…" Thranduil looked up, and smiled sadly. "It was only seconds after her death that help came. Only seconds…"

Círhael was silent, and he fiddled absently with the sleeve of his robes for a few moments, before raising his eyes to look at his brother-in-law again. "But all that you have told us about Ithilwen's death, it does not explain your guilt. Do you feel that just because you could not save her?"

"No. The Orc who took her life, I told you what he said," Thranduil answered. "He said, 'you aretoo defiant and arrogant for your own good. The she-elf will pay for your insolence'. And she did. She paid."

"But they are only words," Círhael said uneasily. "They mean nothing. You should not take them to heart."

"I did," Thranduil answered. He paused, and shrugged lightly. "But maybe you are right."

"What's done is done," Elrond said. "The past cannot change. Do not think about what might have been. Think only about what is."

Círhael was silent for a moment, but then he reached out and rested a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Why now? Had you told me this sooner, you would have been spared from carrying such a heavy burden."

"Pride," Thranduil replied with a soft laugh. "You said it yourself only a few days back. I was scornful, but deep inside of myself I knew that you spoke the truth."

"If I had known why you…what was causing your…" Unable to find the right words, Círhael's voice faded into silence; with a weak smile, he began again. "If I had known this before, I would not have been the way I was. I would have understood. Forgive me."

"It is not necessary," Thranduil answered. "But tell me, are you well after listening to my account of your sister's death? I know it cannot have been easy to hear."

"I am well enough. I knew – although I did not want to believe or accept – that Ithilwen would have suffered at the hands of the Orcs. You only confirmed that for me," Círhael replied. He paused and smiled again, though this time it did not appear strained. "You were correct in saying that I wanted to know. And now I do. However, I do not think that we should continue to remember her this way. I for one do not wish to. We both have fairer memories of her."

Elrond sat opposite the two Sindar Elves, and fixed them both with a questioning gaze. "What now? Will you tell Legolas of this? Thranduil, do you want to… No, do you feel ready to see him? Or do you wish for more time apart? And if so, will it help?"

"I want to see him, of course I do," the King replied quickly. "But do I feel ready? I do not know. I want to be. But what if I…what if I _do _see him, and nothing changes? What if I continue to say words that I do not mean? I am afraid that I will not be able to make amends, and-

"Why Legolas?" Círhael asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I think that what your brother-in-law meant was that you can be yourself – as much as these circumstances allow – around all but your son," Elrond explained. "Why do you find his company so difficult to bear? Why does he anger you when others do not?"

Thranduil looked away, and shook his head slowly. "It never used to be this way. You both know that."

"Yes. But we do not know the reasons behind your current feelings for Legolas," Círhael replied. "If we do not-

"You cannot help me," the King finished. "But the truth is that I cannot tell you anything, because I just…how can I tell you when I do not know myself? There are many thoughts in my mind, and I do not understand them, I cannot make sense of them. I am sorry."

"As am I," Círhael murmured.

"You need not sound so disappointed," Thranduil snapped, his eyes flashing as he rose from the sofa. "This is not easy, it was never going to be. I hate this as much as you do, probably even more, but things are not going to change this quickly. What do you want me to do? Shall I tell untruths just so that you and Elrond are able to attribute them to why this family has been suffering?"

"I have not asked you to do that," the elder Elf countered, rising also so that he was at eye level with his brother-in-law. "Do not assume that I do not understand this, because I _do_. I _know _this is difficult, I _know_ it hurts, and-

"If you know so much, then why do you need me to give you answers?" Thranduil spat.

Watching the two younger Elves, Elrond shook his head in irritation. "Have I not already told you both to control your tempers?" he said sternly. "We seem to be going in circles, and it is always anger that stops us from moving elsewhere. I cannot forbid or prevent either of you from becoming angry – although I wish I could – but I _can_ ask you to try and avoid it."

"And if that is easier said than done?" Círhael ground out.

"And if I tell you to think of how this is helping Legolas?" Elrond retorted.

As the argument turned away from him, Thranduil snatched up his cloak and flung it around his shoulders, before spinning on his heel and storming over to the door. He felt a strong hand on his arm, but he pushed it away forcefully. "Don't, Círhael," he snapped. "Leave me."

"Where are you going?" Elrond asked, ending the question with a deep sigh.

The Elven-king pushed open the door, and without glancing back at the elder two, he replied: "I cannot stay here. I just want…need to be alone."

"He is not walking away from this," Círhael hissed. "I will not let him."

"What power do you hold over him? You cannot stop him," Elrond replied quickly, grabbing his friend's arm to hold him back.

"What power? I have Legolas. I have his son," the Sinda replied. "And I know – even though it cannot be seen – that he loves that child. If we let him walk away, we will not get him back."

Elrond closed his eyes briefly, before following Círhael from the King's private rooms out into the corridor. "Then, what are you going to-

Both Elves stopped dead as a sudden cry pierced the air. It came from behind one of the doors a little way ahead of them, and as childish sobs reached their ears, they realised simultaneously that it could only be one person: Legolas. As they rushed forwards to the Prince's room, Thranduil, drawn by his son's cries, came back around the corner, though neither of them saw him. He leaned against the wall, and watched through fearful eyes as his brother-in-law burst in to Legolas' aid.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Heart pounding with a fear that is natural, especially after already losing a loved one, Círhael ran into Legolas' room, eyes darting wildly as they sought him. And there he was. Sitting in the middle of the floor, body trembling and tears streaming down pale cheeks, there was the young Prince. Arrows lay beside him, and his left hand, which was stained red, he held close to his chest.

"By the Valar!" Círhael exclaimed, not even noticing as Elrond rushed from the room to get medicine. "Legolas, what did you do?"

The Prince shook his head, the action releasing more tears. "It hurts," he choked out. "Uncle, it hurts, and I…I'm bleeding! It hurts, it…"

"Hush, hush," Círhael soothed, kneeling next to the boy and gently taking the bloody hand in his own. "Tell me how this happened, tithen-las."

"I was playing with arrows," Legolas whispered. "I pricked myself, and then the blood came."

Círhael frowned as he carried his nephew over to sit on the edge of the bed. "You did more than prick yourself. I have seen countless wounds over the years, and I know that this was no accident. You…Valar!"

"Don't be mad," Legolas whispered, as realisation dawned on his uncle's face.

"Tell me you didn't," Círhael replied, his voice shaking with a fear that could not be concealed. "Please, tell me…"

The Prince suddenly flung himself forwards, and buried his face deep into the elder Elf's robes. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I thought that…please don't shout at me again. I didn't want to, but I…I thought it might…"

"I will not shout at you," Círhael whispered, his own eyes pooled with tears. "Just tell me why. Will you tell me that, pen-neth?"

"Ada would never ignore me if I was hurt," Legolas cried. "If he saw me bleeding, he would look after me and make me better. I did it for him, so that he would hold me and love me again."

Círhael opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again as his brother-in-law appeared in the doorway. As he looked across into the sad blue eyes, he could see the inner battle that the King was fighting with his own feelings, he could see how hard Thranduil was trying to push away the guilt and frustration that not being able to do his duty as a father brought about. And although he wanted to be angry at what the younger Elf had inadvertently done to Legolas, Círhael found that now he knew the truth, he could not. All he felt was pity.

Thranduil went forwards tentatively to the bed, holding his breath as he gazed upon the turned back of his son. Five days…five days since he had last lain eyes on him, and yet it felt like so much more time had flown past. Without speaking, he sat next to Círhael, and waited. For what? For Legolas to notice his presence? For the right words to form in his mind? He did not know.

"I'm sorry," the Prince murmured, raising his head slowly from his uncle's chest. "I didn't mean… Ada!"

"Legolas," Thranduil said quietly. "You…you are hurt, I…"

"Lord Elrond will be here in a minute with some medicine for you," Círhael said softly to his nephew. "For now, why not go to your father? He has been anxious to see you, I believe."

As his child was passed gently into his arms, Thranduil drew in a sharp breath and held it, trying to calm his tumultuous feelings – and there were many of those. But what he felt more than anything was fear. Small hands tangled themselves in the material of his tunic, and he was vaguely reminded of the first time that he had held his baby son, of the fear and doubt that he had felt back then. He had been so unsure of what to do with the infant Prince, afraid that he would do something wrong – the fact that he felt the same now, years on, was unnerving, and he pushed it from his mind.

With a sad smile, Círhael leaned across and took his brother-in-law's hand, guiding it so that it rested gently on Legolas' golden head. The King looked up and held the elder Elf's gaze for a moment, before turning his face into his son's shoulder. He closed his eyes as he felt them starting to blur, but the tears still fell from under his lashes. He made no attempt to stop them.

"I knew you would come back," Legolas murmured. "I knew that you still loved me, Ada."

Thranduil glanced up at Círhael, and after a reassuring nod from him, he whispered to the child: "I did not stop. I never could."

"Please don't go away again. You were still in the palace, but I missed you," the Prince said quietly. "If you went away again, I…"

"What is it?" Círhael asked softly.

"Ada is wearing a cloak. Why is he…?" Legolas looked into his father's eyes, tears falling silently from his own. "Why are you wearing a cloak? You didn't come here to say goodbye, did you? Don't leave, Ada. Don't."

"I am staying here," Thranduil said quietly. "I am not going anywhere."

As Elrond re-entered the room and started to examine Legolas' hand, Círhael smiled briefly. For two long weeks they had all struggled to find the strength to guide themselves through this terrible time; and everyone had suffered, no-one more so than the King and his son. But this scene before him of father and child was a beautiful one, a special one. It told him that finally his family would start to move away from their dark past.

But Círhael was wrong – there was much more to come.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**MCross: **Um…no, you're not wrong. Something big is going to happen, and it's not going to be good. How evil of me! Hope you're feeling ok!

**Flamesofthemo0n: **Well, luckily I've dropped media now, so I never have to worry about it again!

**Lombadia Greenleaf: **Yeah, Star Wars Episode Three has come out in Britain, but I haven't yet seen it. I haven't seen the other films yet, so I'd probably have to watch those before watching this one.

**Legolas-gurl88: **You know, we haven't mentioned spiders for ages! I think that's a good thing, though!

**Wolenczak2004: **Hope the wait wasn't too long for you…

**The Dancing Cavalier: **Thanks for your compliment!

**Aranel of Mirkwood: **Hehe, cruel endings are fun!

**Brazgirl: **Maybe, but I think that Thranduil was more concerned over the fact that Círhael had just accused him of destroying Legolas' life than anything else. Hope the wait wasn't too long!

**Jedigollum: **Thanks. The bad news isn't looking so bad at the moment, but it could go either way. Yeah, being ignored isn't very nice, poor Legolas.

**Rutu: **Actually, the twins haven't made an appearance for a while, have they? I think they come up in the next chapter, though. In fact yeah, I'm pretty sure of it.

**Kelsey Estel: **Yeah, Britain is quite often behind when it comes to television. We normally get the first season when other countries are already on season three or something like that.

**Haldir's Heart and Soul: **There's your answer!

**Kel: **Hehe, horrible councillor!

**Lilan: **Yeah, I think that if Legolas was older, people might take him more seriously, but because he's only little, they tend to take him for granted. Poor Elfling!

**Elf771: **Hehe, choppy sentences are fun. Choppy. Isn't that a funny word!

**Utsuri: **Well, he could've taken it a lot worse.

**Barbara Kennedy: **I'm sorryabout your bad news, and hope you and your family are ok.

**Elven Kitten: **Cool, I'll add that to my tally!

I have to apologise for the time it took me to get this chapter up. Last week I got some bad news about my grandmother – she's very ill, and it's very hard for me at the moment, because I'm the one who has to be strong for everyone, so I'm trying to deal with things in the best way I can. I also spent the weekend in London, and to top it off, I've not been feeling very well myself. But the chapter is up now! I can't guarantee that the next one will be up in the next week, but I'll try my best for you all.

Misto

x-x


	9. Chapter 9

That night as Legolas lay in bed, his mind was taken over by a dream. No, not a dream, it was too disturbing for that. It was a nightmare. He tossed and turned, crying as he was taken back to the day when he had looked upon Ithilwen's body. But this time it was worse. He could see the Orcs, he watched as they assaulted his beautiful mother, and he could do nothing to stop it from happening, he was powerless.

His eyes had closed, but tears escaped from underneath his lashes, leaving lines on his pale cheeks as they fell down to wet his hair. The sheets of the bed twisted around his small body, trapping him, holding him cruelly in place as he fought violently against the horrific scenes that played out in his mind. When all he wanted to do was run, run far away from what he was watching, he could not move.

He could see the blood, could hear his mother's screams of pain and fear, and he could even smell the foul stench that came from the Orcs. He had to break free; he knew that if he stayed there for any longer, he himself would scream. He would be discovered, and then he would die after a long and horrible torment, just like Ithilwen. He had to save himself…

"Nana!" he suddenly cried out, eyes snapping open to stare wildly around the room. "Nana…"

Legolas sat up, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he realised that it had only been a dream, a cruel play in his head, that he was safe. But he could not stay on his own. He needed to find comfort in the arms of a loved one – he would find none if he remained alone. His first instinct was Círhael, but as he untangled the sheets from around his body, he realised that he could go instead to his father. Thranduil would not turn him away, not any more.

The Prince climbed slowly out of bed, and pulling the back of his hand across his eyes, left the room and went swiftly up the corridor. Candles which stood in brackets cast large shadows on the walls, and they danced silently, menacingly. He could not look at them. They rose high above his small body, eerily reminiscent of the Orcs that had haunted his sleep only a short while back.

"Leave me alone," he whispered, increasing his pace as the door to the King's chambers came into sight.

He ran to it and pulled down on the ornately decorated handle, expecting to be admitted straight away. But nothing happened. Again he tried to open it, but the door remained firmly shut. No, it could not be locked. Why did Thranduil still feel the need to lock it? Legolas raised a trembling hand and tapped on one of the oak panels, his fear making him knock harder than intended. The noise echoed around him, and he flinched.

"Ada, let me in," he called. "Please don't make me stay out here. I had a dream. I need to see you…Ada!"

There was no reply from inside; no sound of movement. Everything was silent, except for the choked sobs that came from the distressed Prince standing outside his father's door. Why was he being ignored? Surely Thranduil would comfort him again if he knew that he was upset? But then suddenly, realisation hit. When it did, it hurt. It all made sense now. He knew. But he did not understand.

"Ada was just pretending," Legolas whispered. "He was pretending because Lord Elrond and Uncle Círhael were there. He didn't mean any of it, he was just…pretending. So he doesn't love me. He doesn't…"

Fresh tears sprung to the Elfling's eyes, and in a sudden moment of anger and defiance, he slammed his fist against one of the oak panels. But if he expected that to draw his father out, he was sorely disappointed. With one last look at the mockingly closed door, he turned and ran back down the corridor, his grief paining him in ways greater than those which he had yet known, and his heart breaking.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As he sensed footsteps approaching, Thranduil opened his eyes and looked up from where he sat at the bottom of a linden tree. "Did you follow me out here?" His voice was soft, and despite the nature of the question, without anger.

"Yes, but I will not seek forgiveness for that," Círhael replied. "I was about to retire for the night, but I saw you leaving our private corridors. I wondered where you could be going at such a late hour. I was concerned."

"Hmm." The Elven-king glanced sideways at his brother-in-law, and smiled. "I don't suppose you have your master key with you, do you? I have gotten into the habit of keeping my door locked this past week, and I forgot to bring mine out with me."

Círhael rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. "Yes, I have mine. You should take the lock off your door now. There is no real reason for it to be kept on, is there?"

"No. But like I said, habit," Thranduil replied. He looked up, and smiled again. "You should not have been concerned. I came out here to the gardens because sleep would not find me."

"Is something troubling you?" Círhael asked quickly.

The Elven-king shook his head, and shifted positions as his brother-in-law sat on the ground beside him. "No. The opposite."

"Tell me."

"I have not been myself for days. I have not been able to play the role of a father," Thranduil said slowly. "But today I…I held my child, I told him that I love him. Those are trivial things for a parent, but for me it…I cannot tell you how it made me feel, but…"

"I understand," Círhael said. He paused and glanced sideways at the younger Elf, holding a quick debate with himself. "Thranduil, Legolas…"

"What?"

"Legolas loves you," Círhael said quickly. He looked away again and closed his eyes sadly. It would have to wait. He could not, _would _not ruin his brother-in-law's happiness with the truth of the Prince's wound.

Thranduil smiled, and nodded. "And I love him. But…do you think he knows that? He did, once. But now I fear that I have made him doubt it."

"He was so happy to see you this evening," Círhael replied. "All that matters to him is that you have come back. And in his mind, that must mean that you love him. Worry not. I do not believe that he doubts your love."

Thranduil leaned his head back against the tree and looked up at the sky, the stars reflecting in his eyes. "I hope so, Círhael. I really hope so."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the room that the twins shared at the end of the Royal Family's private corridor, only one of the brothers had found sleep. Or rather, only one of them had been able to remain on the path of dreams when the door had opened, and soft footsteps were heard padding across the carpet. Elrohir – a much lighter sleeper than Elladan – sat up, and looked at the newcomer in surprise.

"Legolas, what are you doing up at this time of night?" he whispered.

"Can I stay with you?" the Prince asked quietly, his eyes lowered to the floor.

Elrohir nodded, and moved over to make room for his friend. "Of course. Come up here, and you can tell me what is going on. Do you want me to wake Elladan?"

"No, he'll be mad," Legolas muttered. "He doesn't like being woken."

"He would not mind if he knew that something was wrong." Elrohir glanced across at his sleeping brother, and then down at the Elfling who sat beside him. He smiled. "Very well, we will let him carry on dreaming. So, do you want to tell me?"

Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them close, not looking at his friend as he replied: "I…had a dream. It made me cry, so I went to Ada because I thought that he would make me feel better, but…hedidn'tletmeinandhedoesn'tlovemejustasIthought."

Elrohir's brow furrowed in confusion, and he touched the child's shoulder. "Slow down. Say that again."

"Ada didn't let me in and he doesn't love me, just as I thought," Legolas whispered. "He hates me, I should've known."

"He hates…no, of course he doesn't," Elrohir said incredulously. "Why in all of Arda would you say something like that?"

"Because it's the truth," the Elfling muttered. "If you had a nightmare and you went to your Ada because you were upset; and he didn't let you in, wouldn't you think that he hated you?"

"No. I would think of a perfectly logical explanation as to why he would not see me," Elrohir replied. "Consider the time. It is long past midnight, he is more than likely asleep."

"I banged on the door," Legolas sighed. "Even if he _was_ asleep, that would've woken him. I know that he was in his room, and I know that…" Fresh tears pooled in the silver eyes, and he drew a deep breath before continuing in a whisper: "I know that he doesn't love me."

Elrohir leaned back against the pillows, and pulled the child against his chest. "Hush, you must not say such things," he chided gently, as he ran his fingers through the golden hair. "Your father does love you, I know he does."

"That's what everyone kept telling me before: you, Elladan, Uncle Círhael, Ameldir… I believed you all, but I don't any more," the Prince said quietly. "It would just be better if…if I wasn't here."

"Legolas!" Elrohir said, shocked. "You do not mean that!"

"Do."

"I am not the one that you should be speaking to about this," the dark haired Elf sighed. "I cannot help you any more than I already can. You must speak instead to your father, and-

"But he will not see me!"

Elrohir winced as his brother stirred in the other bed. "Not in the middle of the night, no. But in the daytime, I am sure that he will. Speak to him alone after breakfast tomorrow, alright? And I can assure you that he will tell you what I have: _he loves you_."

"He won't see me," Legolas said sullenly.

"He will. And if he has to rush off to catch up on work or attend a meeting – which is highly probable – you must have him make time to see you," Elrohir replied.

The Elfling turned his face away, and closed his eyes. When he next spoke, his normally soft voice was bitter. "What is so important about me that the King would make time to see me?"

"Oh, maybe the fact that you are his _son_?" Elrohir said incredulously. When the child continued to look dejected, he sighed. "Legolas, if that is not important enough, I do not know what is."

"He never made time for me before Nana went away when he was working, so what makes you think he will now?" the Prince asked. "When he is being King, he only makes time for his people, not me."

"Then, I am at a loss. Why don't you…save someone's life. Or stop a rampaging horse. I do not think he would overlook something as important as that, whether he is being King or not. Or you could…" Elrohir trailed off at the look on his friend's face. "What?"

"A rampaging horse? Where am I going to find one of those?" Legolas asked. "The idea is good, but…Oh, I don't know."

The elder Elf made a non-committal gesture with his hand, and sighed deeply. "Nor do I. Come, let us discuss this at a more reasonable hour. You may not be, but I am tired, and I want sleep."

"Sorry," Legolas murmured.

"It matters not," Elrohir replied.

As his friend pulled the coverlet up over them both, the little Prince's mind whirled. He did not think that there was any need for further discussion, not on this subject. He had to see his father, that was all there was to it. He had to do something which would be important enough to be taken before the King. And he had just the idea.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next morning dawned, and as the sun slowly cast her beams over Mirkwood, Legolas had already left the twins to go back to his own rooms where he could change into day clothes, and go through in his mind the plans that he had made the previous night, after Elrohir had fallen asleep. An hour later, he was entering Círhael's chambers, greeting the Elf-lord with a smile that he wore to hide his apprehension.

"Good morning," he said, climbing up onto the bed, and sitting cross-legged.

"You want something," Círhael said from where he braided his hair.

Legolas looked up in surprise, and locked eyes with his uncle in the mirror. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know _you_, pen-neth," the elder Elf replied with a smile. "Come, you may as well ask me sooner rather than later."

"Well, I was wondering…could I be excused from breakfast this morning?" Legolas asked. "Ameldir set me something to read, and I haven't read it yet. I want to finish it before I see him later."

"I hope this is not a repeat of what happened last time," Círhael said seriously.

"It isn't. It's just that he set it yesterday, and I didn't have time to do it, firstly because I hurt my hand, and secondly because Ada…came back," Legolas replied. "I wanted to spend my time with _him._"

"I see. Well, Ameldir will understand," Círhael said. "Just explain the situation, and tell him that you will read the book tonight. I will see him myself if that will make you feel better."

"Thank you, but no. I don't want to let him down again. I promised him, didn't I? I can't break a promise," Legolas said quietly. '_I don't break promises. Not like Ada.'_

As he tied off one of his braids, Círhael shook his head doubtfully. "You should not miss breakfast. No, I am sorry. I cannot have you going hungry."

"Well, can I have a late breakfast?" the Prince asked almost desperately. "I just don't want to disappoint Ameldir."

"Ai Elbereth, Legolas," the Elf-lord sighed. "Very well, if that is what you want to do, I will not stop you. I will let the kitchen staff know when I go to the dining hall in a moment."

As his uncle spoke, the Elfling looked at the oak desk beside the bed, quickly scanning the surface for the most important part of his plan: Círhael's master key, the key that would unlock any door in the whole palace, be it in the Royal quarters, the important council halls, the treasure rooms or even in the prison. And there it was, sitting on top of a leather bound book, its shiny silver a deep contrast to the luxurious red beneath it. Now all that Legolas had to do was take it without being noticed.

"How is your hand?"

"What? Oh…" Legolas glanced down at the bandage he wore, and smiled vaguely. "It is better. I don't think that I need to wear this any more. But I want to keep it on for a bit longer. It makes me look like a warrior come back from a battle."

"It does," Círhael agreed. He paused, and turned away from the mirror to face his nephew. "Are you sure that you want a late breakfast? You will miss seeing your father. I believe that he is going to be joining us at the table once more."

"Ada will understand," Legolas said carefully.

"I am sure he will," Círhael answered, coming forwards to sit beside the Elfling on the bed. He touched a hand to one of the slender shoulders, and smiled sadly. "I am sorry. I hope that you can forgive me."

"What for?" Legolas asked in surprise.

"Yesterday. When I saw what you had done to Vehiron, I lost my temper. I did not handle things in the way that I should have," Círhael sighed. "I just…I felt so angry, and seeing the scene in your father's study pushed me over the edge."

"It wasn't your fault," Legolas said, twining his small fingers with his uncle's. "I was being naughty."

The Elf-lord had to smile at that. "Yes, you were. But still, I reacted in the wrong way. I should not have shouted, and I most certainly should not have…" He fell silent, and touched the side of the child's face. "I am sorry, tithen-las."

Legolas leaned forwards with a smile, and kissed his uncle's cheek. "It doesn't matter. It didn't hurt very much anyway. You're not very strong. And I thought that you were meant to be a warrior."

"So I am," Círhael said seriously. His face remained impassive for a moment, but then he reached out, and tickled the young Prince. He laughed as his victim cried out; and said: "Yes, I am a warrior, and _this _is my deadliest weapon."

"Let go!" Legolas giggled, backing away slightly. "I know. I know that you are nearly the best fighter in Mirkwood."

"Nearly?"

"Yes." The Prince looked away, and nodded once. "Ada is the best."

Círhael smiled, and touched a hand to his nephew's shoulder. "Of course. But it was not always so. One day, you must remind me to tell you of the time that he shot his father in the foot."

"Really?" Legolas asked in surprise.

"Yes, I remember it well. However, it must wait, because I have to be in the dining hall soon, and you have to go and read that book," Círhael replied, leading the Elfling over to the door. "Where will you be working? The library? I will accompany you, as I am going that-

"Actually, no," Legolas said quickly, taking a few steps backwards. "It will save time if I do it in my own room. You can go, if you want to. I'll be alright by myself."

"Very well, I will see you this afternoon." Círhael smiled at the young Prince, before turning and walking down the corridor. However, he had to have the last word. "Make sure you attend the late breakfast!"

Legolas rolled his eyes good-naturedly, lest the elder Elf look back to see a reaction. But he did not; and as soon as he had disappeared from sight around the corner, the child who had been left behind let out a deep breath of relief. But he did not move, not yet. He would wait a minute or so, just to make sure that he really was alone.

'_I don't want to do this,' _he thought sadly. _'I know that it will anger Uncle Círhael and it will upset Elrohir because he will think it was his idea. And I know that it will get me into trouble. But I have to do it. I have to see Ada, I _have _to. Tears weren't enough last night, but this will be. He will have no choice.'_

With that last thought in his mind, the young Prince re-entered his uncle's chamber, heart pounding heavily against his chest as he crept forwards to the desk. He reached up, holding his breath. Without any moment of doubt or hesitation, he snatched the key from where it rested on top of Círhael's book. And as he did so, he heard an accusing voice from behind him, could feel a strong hand grip his shoulder, and-

"Stop it!" Legolas hissed to himself. "You're only making yourself scared. But you've got the key, so that part is over. It's time for the other part now."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the depths of the palace far away from the Royal corridors, far away from the council halls, far away from the prison, were the halls in which the King's treasure and the heirlooms of his family were kept, guarded at all times by Elves armed with dangerous blades. The two on duty at the moment were Hérion and Andaer; and as their young Prince stopped before them, they saluted, both smiling inwardly as a red flush rose on his cheeks.

"Hello," Legolas said. "You don't have to do that to me. It doesn't really mean anything, does it?"

"It is a mark of respect, Your Highness," Hérion replied.

"That's not my name," the Elfling sighed. "But never mind. I was sent here by my father with a message for you, for both of you. He wishes to see you in the throne room."

Andaer shot the other guard a sideways glance, before looking back down at the Prince. "Did the King name us specifically?" he asked, failing to keep the suspicion from his voice.

"No, he just told me to give the message to whoever was on duty," Legolas replied. "He said that there is a matter of urgency to be discussed, and…well…oh, please go! If you don't, not only will you be disobeying the King, but you'll get me into trouble also, because he will think that the message wasn't delivered."

"I…" Andaer exhaled, and shook his head slightly. "Very well. Hérion…"

Legolas hid a smile, and watched quietly as the elder Elves checked the security measures on the great doors – not that it would make much difference. And of course there was no message from the King, and they would probably find out that they had been tricked in just ten minutes. That gave him not a lot of time. Not a lot, but enough to do what he had to.

It seemed as though a whole age passed by before the guards were satisfied, and as they strode away, the little Prince could not help breathing a deep sigh of relief. He watched them go, listening to the rhythmic beats of their footsteps on the floor; and as those finally faded away into silence, he drew from the pocket of his tunic, Círhael's master key.

As he stood on the tips of his toes and slid the slim key into the lock, Legolas' gaze fell on the emblem of the King's house that was emblazoned in silver and green in the centre of each of the two doors. And as he stared at them, they stared back at him, silently accusing. A sudden guilt fell on him, a guilt so strong that he almost jerked his arm back, and ran away from the scene.

'_Is this betrayal?' _he wondered to himself. _'I suppose it is. I mean…I'm not being loyal to my family by doing this, so it must be. But no, maybe betrayal isn't the right word. What I'm doing isn't good, but it's not as though I'm…killing or hurting anyone, so…so anyway, it doesn't matter, because this way I will be taken to Ada, and he will have no choice but to see me, and then I can tell him everything, what I feel, and…yes, this is alright. I think.'_

Mentally shaking himself to get rid of the horrible feeling, Legolas stared straight ahead, unfocusing his eyes so that they bypassed the emblems of Oropher's royal house. With a determined nod, he turned the key. He half expected it to click loudly, alerting guards to his presence. But silence reigned. And as the door was slowly pushed open, he imagined a terribly piercing creak tearing the still air. But there was nothing. He was safe…for the time being.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As Círhael ended his explanation of Legolas' absence, Thranduil looked up in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"What do you mean by that?" the elder Elf asked. "He wanted to finish reading a book for Ameldir before his lessons today. I hope you do not object to my giving him permission to miss breakfast?"

"Of course not, but…" Thranduil leaned forwards slightly so that their conversation would remain hidden from the other Elves at the table; and murmured: "Legolas has no lessons today. He has none until tomorrow."

"Then, why did he say that?" Círhael questioned.

"I do not know. But maybe it was not such a good idea letting him go," Thranduil said slowly. "I would rather he was here."

Círhael nodded and pushed back his chair to seek his nephew, but at the same time, a servant appeared at the table. "My Lords," she said apologetically. "I hope that you can forgive this interruption, but…"

"What is it?"

"Your Highness, Hérion and Andaer are outside," the servant replied. "They were sent to the throne room under the impression that you had an urgent matter to discuss with them. When they found that you were not there, they came here to enquire."

"Who were they sent by?" Círhael asked.

"Prince Legolas, my Lord."

Thranduil arched a cynical eyebrow, and shook his head slightly. "My son? No, I believe that he is elsewhere."

"Forgive me, Your Highness. Hérion and Andaer left him outside the treasury," the servant answered, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. "That was only a few minutes back."

"Why would Legolas be down there?" Thranduil asked softly.

Círhael shook his head, and sighed as he got to his feet. "I will go and sort this out. I will not be too long."

At the other end of the table, the twins were watching quietly. Elladan glanced across at his brother, and started at the pale colour of his face. "Are you alright, 'Ro?" he whispered.

"Yes, I just…" Elrohir bit down on his lip as he remembered the conversation that he and the Prince had had the previous night. "I just have a feeling that Legolas has done something foolish."

"What makes you say that?" Elladan asked softly.

Elrohir looked up, and winced as his eyes met those of his father. "Later," he murmured.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas sat down against the wall, and gazed around the first of the large treasure rooms in a mix of wonder and shock. He had never seen so many jewels in his whole life! He had not even been aware that there was this much treasure in the palace! And to think that Thranduil wanted more because he did not have as much as other Elf-lords before him. They really must have had a lot, the Elfling though in amazement.

"But they're beautiful," he whispered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of rose crystals. "No wonder Ada likes them so much."

Not only were there the pale pink crystals on his person, but also a necklace of diamond, rings of ruby and emerald; and every time he moved, he could feel them sliding against each other, could hear the soft and melodious clink of jewel on jewel. A smile gracing his features, he hid the crystals in his pocket once more, and made to rise to his feet. But the two large doors suddenly opened, and a sliver of light shone into the large room.

All around him were chests full of treasure, and piles of gold and silver; and he instinctively shrunk back against them, wondering if he would be hidden from whoever had come into the room. But no. Standing in the great doorway with the two guards, Hérion and Andaer, was his sharp-eyed uncle. He was seen almost immediately.

"Legolas, I want an explanation right now," Círhael said in a low voice, as he strode forwards to his nephew. "And you will stand up when spoken to."

The Prince got to his feet, and smiled in spite of the fear coursing through him. "I never knew that Ada had so much treasure. It's nice, isn't it? Very beautiful."

"Do not digress," Círhael said sharply. "Why did you tell Hérion and Andaer that the King had called for them? And why are you in here? It is forbidden to you, as you know. Moreover, _how_ did you get in here?"

"I stole your key," Legolas replied, holding it up. "I told the guards that Ada wanted them so that I wouldn't be stopped from unlocking the door; and I'm in here because…well, you weren't supposed to catch me."

The Elf-lord knelt down to grip his nephew's shoulder, but as he did so, his fingers brushed against the Prince's pocket. Feeling the jewels, he looked up, shocked. "What have you done?" he asked softly.

"I stole them," Legolas replied quietly, taking some of the treasure, and holding it out to his uncle. "You can have some if you want. I don't mind sharing."

"You stole…" Círhael closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. "Why have you done this? What possessed you to…Do you not realise how much trouble will be caused for you?"

"If you don't want them, I will keep them for myself," Legolas said, withdrawing his hand and shoving the jewels back into his pocket.

"No. You are going to give them all back to me, and then you are going to go to your own room whilst I speak with your father," Círhael replied. "So, give me what you have."

"They're mine, not yours," the Prince muttered.

"Now."

Legolas pouted and was silent for a moment, but then with a feral hiss of annoyance, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out the jewels and coins, only to slam them down into his uncle's hand. He turned on his heel and was about to push past the stunned guards in the doorway, when he was sharply pulled to a halt by a familiar strong hand.

"You could have been a little bit more thoughtful," Círhael said coldly. "You knew full well that this was to be your father's first day back since he-

"Left me," Legolas said sulkily.

"Since he took that time to recover from his grief; and as if he did not already have enough to do today, you have just made things a _lot _harder for him," the Elf-lord continued angrily. "Did you do it out of petty spite?"

"No!"

"Well, I care not," Círhael snapped. "And before you go, there is one more thing…never lie to me again. I will not tolerate that."

"Then, you should learn to guess when someone is lying or telling the truth," Legolas replied. With a smile, he turned and left; and although the guards caught the pain in his silver eyes as he passed, they remained silent.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

**Very important: **Ok, I have quite a few things to say here. Firstly, sorry about the time it took to update. I'm out of college now, and moreover, I've actually managed to finish writing the whole of this story, so updates should be more frequent.

Secondly, I would like to make it clear that I am not continuing the story in this way just so that I can put the characters through more hell, and make it even more angsty. It has to be this way, because not everything is yet resolved. Things can't go back to normal straight away, as though nothing ever happened. Of course there will be obstacles on the way. Moreover, Thranduil still has inner demons that he has to fight – he wouldn't be able to get rid of them all just by seeing his son very slightly injured.

Thirdly, due to the new rule that we can't reply to reviews as we always have before, I obviously won't be able to reply to you on here. I don't want to get banned! I'm really unhappy about this new rule, because I think that responding to reviews is very important. At least, it is to me, and probably to many others. So, unfortunately I won't be able to reply to any of you on here any more, but if you leave your e-mail addresses – if you so desire – I'll happily e-mail you. Cool? Cool.

The next chapter will be up soon,

Misto

x-x


	10. Chapter 10

Thranduil pushed open the door to his study, and rolled his eyes as his gaze fell upon the mounds of parchment that had piled up. "Oh, I have missed this," he muttered.

"I will help you. I am sure that between us, we can get it all sorted by the end of this month," Elrond replied, eyeing the papers. "Come, do not look so downhearted. My company will make the job much less tedious."

"Thank you. It is all very well to joke about it, but the reality is that this work has just accumulated over the days, and Círhael was the one who had to deal with it," Thranduil sighed. "I never knew that there was this much."

"Well, the longer we spend discussing it, the longer it will take to…" Elrond looked up as the door opened, and smiled. "You have come to join us, then."

Círhael shook his head, and sat down with a heavy sigh. "No. I have come to report that I found Legolas."

"Where was he?"

Drawing a deep breath, the Elf-lord quickly explained all that had taken place down in the treasury; and as he reached the part concerning the theft of the jewels, he sadly noted the pain in his brother-in-law's eyes. But he knew that it was not pain brought on by the revelations, it was pain brought on by the fact that Thranduil now had a difficult decision to make concerning one whom he loved and priced above any piece of treasure.

"Valar," Elrond sighed, as the story came to an end. "Why was Legolas stealing the jewels?"

"He wanted some for himself," Círhael answered. "That is no crime, but the way he went about getting them most certainly is. And I regret to say this, but this matter cannot be overlooked."

"What do you mean?" Thranduil asked quietly.

Círhael glanced at the younger Elf, and shook his head slightly. "You know what I mean. Legolas cannot do something like this and expect to escape without punishment. Whichever way you look at it, he has done wrong. There are consequences for that."

"I am sorry, but he is right," Elrond said softly. "If I caught any of my children doing something like this, they would be punished. And although I love all three of them with all my heart, extra history lessons with Erestor is _not _what they would receive."

"I would say the same at any other time, but now…" Thranduil trailed into momentary silence, and turned away from the other two. "How can I? It was only yesterday that he and I…"

"I know how you feel, but you are a King," Círhael said softly. "You cannot treat your son any differently than you would anyone else. If you do, you are condoning what he has done. It is harsh, but that is the way it has always been and will always be. You know this. If Legolas had done something trivial, then fair enough. I would agree that you could let it pass. But this is not something trivial."

"When I was a child, I used to believe that being the son of Oropher meant that committing crimes had no consequences for me. I was Legolas' age when I realised otherwise," Thranduil said slowly. "So yes, yes I _do _know the way it is supposed to be, but that does not change the fact that my child has suffered enough because of me; and I am not going to inflict further pain on him."

"Yes, he suffered, but _that_ does not change the fact that you cannot treat this as a special case. You are looking at this as a father, not a King," Círhael said. "I am sorry…"

Thranduil looked up, and shook his head angrily. "You are asking an impossible thing of me. Yes, Legolas did wrong, but over the past two weeks, he has been punished in a terrible way. And now just one day after our lives start to show a sign of returning to normality, you want me to do this, to _physically _punish him. No. I refuse."

"Elrond, help me," Círhael sighed. "He is not listening to me."

"The only advice I can offer you is this: do what you wish," the half-elf said slowly. "Whatever you do will be right, but it will also be wrong. You have to choose the lesser of two evils."

Thranduil was silent as he thought about this, but then he looked up and nodded. "Legolas has erred, and because he has erred to such an extreme, he does have to be punished. I know that, though I cannot help but resent it. However, I am not willing to deal out any punishment at this time. Maybe that is a weakness, but I care not. I want to build bridges with him, not throw them down."

"In that case…I will do it," Círhael said, unable to keep the dismay from his voice. "I have no bridges to build. Though, maybe I will after this."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

As the door to his room slowly swung open, Legolas jumped to his feet. It was his father that he thought – and hoped – he would see, but he was sorely disappointed. "Uncle Círhael…what are you doing here? Where is Ada?" he asked, surprised.

"He is working," the Elf-lord replied quietly.

"Working? But…no. No, he can't be! I thought that…" Legolas shook his head, and gazed at his uncle through confused eyes. "I thought that because what I did down in the treasury was so bad that _he_ would have to come here and sort everything out. I thought that…"

"No, he cannot," Círhael murmured. He did not meet the Elfling's stare.

The Prince turned away, and closed his eyes tightly. "But I was counting on…" He fell silent, and bowed his head slightly. "I don't understand. If any other Elf tried to steal his treasure, he would be the one to deal with it, not you. So why…?"

"He is busy," Círhael answered in a low voice.

'_No. He doesn't care,' _Legolas thought. Blinking back tears, he turned again to speak, but what he saw in the elder Elf's hand made him catch his breath sharply. "What…why do you…Uncle Círhael?"

Círhael glanced down at the willow switch he held, and shook his head sadly. "Pen-neth, you cannot behave as you did and expect to escape without punishment. The greater the crime, the worse the consequences. That is just the way it has to be."

"You can't do that to me," Legolas whispered.

"If you were a grown Elf, you would be arrested for trying to steal the King's treasure. As it is, this is the only…" Círhael shook his head again, and when he next spoke, his voice was weary. "Do not think that I want to do this. But I have to. You have done wrong, and this is-

"You don't understand!" the Prince cried. Struggling to keep his breathing even, he swiped at his eyes and said desperately: "It wasn't meant to be this way, it wasn't supposed to…Uncle, let me see Ada. Please, I want to see him. I _need_ to see him."

Círhael sighed, and held out a placating hand. "No, not now. I have to do this, tithen-las. I have to."

"I didn't want this to happen," Legolas said quietly. "I didn't think that it would. I thought that Ada would…But I should've known all along that it wouldn't work. I don't think anything will, not any more."

"Come, let us just get this over and done with," Círhael said gently.

The child drew the sleeve of his tunic over his glistening eyes, and nodded once. "When you go back to Ada, tell him…I'm sorry…for everything."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"So, are you going to tell me?"

Elrohir jerked his head up in surprise, and stared at his twin. "What? What do you mean?"

"You voiced your worries earlier about Legolas doing something stupid," Elladan replied. "And he has. How did you know?"

"I would like to say that it was just a feeling, but that would be a lie," Elrohir sighed. Shaking his head, he lay back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I fear that it was I who put the idea into his mind."

"Why?"

"He came in here late last night. He told me that he had had a nightmare and gone to his father for comfort, but when he knocked on the door of Thranduil's rooms, he was ignored. So he came here instead…"

"You should have woken me."

"I was going to, but Legolas protested," Elrohir replied. "He knows how much you dislike being disturbed from sleep."

Elladan rolled his eyes, though he had to nod in agreement. "Hmm. But if he was upset, I would not have minded at all. So, what happened?"

"He _was_ upset, and he was saying that Thranduil hates him, and-

"Thranduil does _not _hate him," Elladan cut in vehemently.

Elrohir sat up, and nodded in earnest. "I know that! I tried to tell Legolas, but he did not believe it. Anyway, I said that he would have to talk to his father about it, and if there was no time to do so, he would have to make time – get the King's attention…somehow; and now he has but he is being punished for it. I did not mean for this to happen, 'Dan. I did not think that he would do something as extreme as this."

"Did you tell him to take the jewels?" Elladan asked quietly.

"Of course not."

"Then, do not blame yourself."

"But-

"But nothing. This is not your fault."

Elrohir held up his hands in mock defeat, and said: "But why did he do this? Did he really think that it would gain him anything?"

"Maybe we should go and see him," Elladan suggested. "I saw Círhael leaving five minutes back, and _he_ certainly looked unhappy."

"That does not surprise me," Elrohir said, as he followed his twin out into the corridor. "But, do you think that-

"Wait!"

What?"

Unconsciously, Elladan reached out and grabbed the other Elf's shoulder. "I have just realised something…"

"Good, release me," Elrohir replied.

"Sorry. Alright, what time did Legolas come to us…well, you, last night? Because I fear that a terrible mistake has been made, one that could have been avoided," Elladan said seriously. "What time was it?"

"It was about an hour after midnight," Elrohir answered. His eyes narrowed in confusion as his brother's face suddenly paled. "Are you well, 'Dan? What is it?"

Elladan leaned against the wall and gazed sadly up the corridor, shaking his head slowly. "At an hour past midnight, Thranduil was not in his rooms. He was in the gardens with his brother-in-law."

"How can you know that?"

"I overheard Círhael telling Adar this morning," Elladan sighed.

"So, Thranduil was not avoiding Legolas at all…he was not even there to see him," Elrohir said slowly. "I was right all along. I knew that there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Yes, but that is not the point. The point is, is that Legolas did all of this for nothing; he suffered such a horrible punishment for nothing; and even worse, he believes that his father hates him," Elladan said. "The poor child must be feeling awful."

"Do we tell him?"

The other Elf nodded, and gestured towards the Prince's door. "It would be wrong not to. Come, do you want to go first or shall I?"

"I will. I still feel slightly responsible," Elrohir answered. As his twin rolled his eyes, he reached out and slapped his arm. "Don't do that, Elladan. I cannot help what I feel and you do not make matters any easier by doing things like that. Just stop it."

"Sorry."

"I should think so."

As his brother turned away and softly pushed open the door, Elladan scowled, and rubbed ruefully at his arm. But all thoughts of his own stinging pain immediately melted into nothing as he heard the childish sobs coming from inside the room, and saw the small body shaking in the bed. That hurt even more, and he could tell by the expression that his twin wore, that the feeling was mutual.

Elrohir sat on the edge of the bed, and gently touched the Prince's shoulder through the sheets that hid him. "Legolas, it is only us. Do you want to talk?"

"No," came a choked whisper.

"Do you want us to get you anything?" Elladan asked.

"No."

"You cannot stay under there all day," Elrohir sighed. "You are upset, and we want to try and make you feel better. I know it hurts, but-

"You don't."

"We do not want you to shut us out," Elladan said quietly. "We only want to help."

"You can't."

Elrohir looked at his brother, and shook his head sadly. "Maybe we should leave. I do not think that he wants us here, and-

"Stay!"

There was silence for a moment, but then the sheets and the coverlet moved, and Legolas crawled out from underneath them. His face was pale, so pale that it was nearly white; and strands of golden hair stuck to his wet cheeks as more and more tears fell. He was working hard to control his grief before his elder friends, and he bit down on his lip, trying to fight away the tears. But they would not stop.

"Ai Legolas," Elrohir breathed.

The Prince threw himself forwards, and buried his face against the dark haired Elf's chest. "Don't go, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "Stay with me."

"We will," Elrohir soothed. Pulling the Elfling close, he swung his legs up onto the bed and lay back against the pillow, all the while gently smoothing the golden hair. "Dan, can you get some-

"Already done it," Elladan replied quietly. He sat beside his twin, and turned Legolas' face up. "Here, do you want some water? It will help to calm you."

"I want to go back in time, and change…" The Prince accepted a few sips, but then he shook his head and pushed the cup away. "I want to change everything."

"But you cannot…"

Elladan put the cup on the table, and with a sigh, lay next to his twin. He rested his head against Elrohir's shoulder, and wrapped an arm around Legolas' small body. "Do you want to tell us what happened?" he asked.

"When the door opened, I thought it would be Ada. But it wasn't. It was Uncle Círhael, and he…he was carrying a switch," the Elfling sniffed. "I asked him where Ada was, and he said 'working'. But I know that's not true."

"What do you mean?" Elladan asked.

"I know that he doesn't love me, and he just didn't want to see me," Legolas replied tearfully. "And so, Uncle Círhael, he…he hit me with the switch. He's never done that to me before. No-one has. It hurt, still does."

"Your uncle did not take pleasure out of punishing you," Elladan said gently. "He probably hated it. But at the same time, he probably thought that it was the right thing to do."

"But it just isn't fair! I have tried everything, and nothing works!" Legolas cried. "Ada was nice to me only once, and that was just because Uncle Círhael and Lord Elrond were there."

Elrohir glanced down at his twin, and sighed deeply. "But even if your father _had_ come to see you, do you really think he would be 'nice'? No, he would be angry with you for behaving badly."

"But I would rather have that than nothing!" Legolas shouted, pulling away from the twins. "I can't, though. I can't stop him hating me!"

Elladan sat up quickly, and gripped the child's shoulders. "I have had enough of this, because it just is not true. Your father does _not_ hate you, I know he doesn't. When you tried to get into his rooms last night, do you know why you were not admitted? Because he was not there. I know this for a fact, and your uncle will tell you the same thing. You are jumping to conclusions, and they are the wrong conclusions."

Legolas was silent for a moment, but then he shook his head angrily. "No, I am tired of everyone inventing excuses for him."

"No-one is," Elrohir said desperately. "It is the truth, I only wish that you could see it."

"I _can_ see the truth, and the truth is that Ada hates me, and nothing is going to change that," Legolas snapped. He glared at the twins for a moment, before nodding towards the door. "I want to be by myself now."

"Don't do this," Elladan sighed.

The Elfling turned away, and shook his head. "Just go."

There was silence, but then Elrohir nodded once. "Very well, we will leave you. But just remember that we tried to help and you refused it. The only one who is making this situation worse now, is you."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

That night, dinner was a sombre affair, with few words passing between the seated Elves. Thranduil had tried twice to speak to Legolas, but the responses he had received were cold and sullen. Elladan and Elrohir, feeling that they had been too hard on their friend earlier that day, were also trying to build bridges; but again, the little Prince was having none of it. So, it fell to Elrond and Círhael to try and ease the oppressive tension in the hall.

"I did not expect it to rain today," the Rivendell Lord said, after a particularly long silence.

"Yes, it _was_ unexpected," Círhael agreed. "But hopefully it will be cleared up by tomorrow. It has been a while since Legolas was able to practise his archery, and I imagine that he misses it very much. Is that not so, pen-neth?"

The Prince sat in silence, staring unseeingly at the untouched food before him. Whether he did not answer because he had yet to recover from the anger that the events of that day had brought about; or if it was merely because he had been so caught up in his tumultuous and confused thoughts that he had not even heard the question, no-one knew. Still, Thranduil nudged him gently to get his attention.

"Legolas…"

"What?"

"You were asked a question."

"I don't care."

Thranduil blinked in surprise, and shook his head slightly. "And you will not answer it? That is not polite."

"I already said that I don't care!" Legolas snapped. "And why do _you_ care whether I answer it or not? You don't even care about _me_."

"Why are you saying this?" Thranduil asked, trying, but failing to force the hurt from his voice. "Of course I care about you, I do not understand why you…"

"You can stop lying now, because I know the truth. You could've told me a long time ago, but you didn't. Why? It probably would've been easier," Legolas said coldly. "I don't think that you-

"This stops now," Círhael cut in. He looked at his nephew, and nodded towards the doors. "I think that you should leave, if you cannot behave properly at the dining table. Thranduil, if you have any objections…"

The Elven-king was silent for a moment, but then he shook his head. "It is best that you go, Legolas."

"But-

"No, we will talk later. Now is not the time or place."

Exhaling shakily, the young Prince pushed back his chair and walked across the hall. But then he stopped, and although he did not turn, his words were heard by all. "I hate you, Ada. It should've been you, not Nana."

Thranduil's head snapped up, but his son was already running through the doors. He could feel eyes on him: not just the eyes of those seated at the table, but the eyes of servants and the eyes of minstrels, all watching him, all waiting for a reaction, any reaction. But what? Was he supposed to smile and pretend that nothing had happened? Or did they expect him to go after his child? He could do neither. He was held still, frozen by the shock of the uncharacteristically cold words: _I hate you, Ada. It should've been you, not Nana._

At the other end of the table, Elladan's gaze travelled swiftly around the hall, and he sighed inwardly as he saw that no-one was attempting to ease the situation by carrying on with their own business. Why were they all watching the King? Why could they not help him by leaving him alone? Feeling a sudden burst of annoyance, he moved his hand across the table, and let his fingers brush against a goblet of wine. He pushed gently, and it toppled over, spilling into his brother's lap.

"Dan!" Elrohir cried.

"Forgive me, I did not see what I was doing," Elladan said quickly, as servants rushed to help.

"Be more careful," Elrond chided, though he nodded gratefully at his son.

The minstrels hesitantly began to play their music once more, and normality started to return to the hall. But it all went un-noticed by Thranduil as he pushed back his chair, and rose. He was dimly aware of someone – was it Círhael? – calling his name, but he shook his head once, blocking it all out. He had to get away; he had to be on his own so that he could…what would he do? What _could _he do? He did not know.

All he knew at that moment was that his own son hated him. _I hate you, Ada. It should've been you, not Nana. _The words pounded inside his head, so thunderous that they were almost deafening. He had to be rid of them somehow; each time he heard them, another part of his heart shattered into pieces. They echoed around him, and even though he closed his eyes and shook his head, they were still there. They were everywhere.

Back at the table, Círhael was rising quickly to his feet, troubled. "Elrond, he needs our help," he murmured.

"Adar, can _we_ help?"

"No, you two stay here."

"Lord Círhael, would you like us to do anything?"

"No. Go back to your work, and-

All of the different voices came together to cruelly form just one: Legolas'. Breathing heavily, Thranduil pushed the large doors open and stumbled into the empty corridor outside. As soon as he was alone, he sank to his knees. But the voice had followed him, it would not leave. _I hate you, Ada. I hate you, Ada. I hate you, Ada. I hate-_

"No!"

The Elven-king moved back so that he was sitting against the wall; and closing his eyes tightly, he pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. His hands tangled in his own golden hair; and he shook his head violently, trying so hard to clear it of the cruel words so that he might be allowed to escape from the pain, the torture. He had to break free, but the voice would not let him.

"Leave me," he whispered. "Stop it, go…"

"Thranduil? Thranduil, it is us. We are going to help you…"

"What…?" He looked up, and blinked in surprise as his eyes met first Círhael's, then Elrond's. The voice had stopped. He shook his head again, and said quietly: "What did…why…?"

Círhael touched a hand to his brother-in-law's shoulder, and smiled sadly. "You had some sort of…attack, I think. We followed you out here, and you sank to the floor. We tried to help you, but you moved away, and…what happened?"

"I was just shocked, I…" Thranduil lowered his eyes, and turned his face away from the others. "I could not be rid of Legolas' words; they seemed to be following me. I had to escape. But I could not. I panicked."

"Are you well?" Elrond asked seriously. "You are not hurt?"

"I am fine. Just a little…"

"Shaken up? That I do not doubt." The Imladris Lord got to his feet, and nodded once. "Very well, I will find some medicine for you, merely as a precaution. Then perhaps it would be a good idea for you to speak with your son."

As Elrond walked away, Thranduil looked up at Círhael despairingly. "Why did Legolas say that? Why does he hate me? I thought that yesterday was the beginning of…I thought that…"

"Hate is a very strong word, and I do not think that Legolas understands exactly _how _strong," Círhael replied. "What he more than likely meant was: I don't like you very much at the moment, Ada. If Nana was here, she would be nicer to me."

"Nicer?" Thranduil repeated. "Are you saying that this is about what happened between he and I since Ithilwen's death? But what about yesterday? Or did I just imagine that?"

Círhael shook his head, and sat down on the floor beside his brother-in-law. "No. You had your son beaten today, and-

"You know that I did not want that to happen," Thranduil cut in. "You know that I was against it, and that I was following your advice."

"Yes, but he does not," Círhael said gently. "Look at it from his point of view, and maybe you will understand. Do you remember when you were a child and Oropher used to get angry at you?"

"Hmm."

"It used to upset you very much, especially when you were just an Elfling. You would come to me in tears," Círhael continued. "And one time after a particularly heated argument, you told me that you hated your father. You said that you never wanted to see him again."

Thranduil nodded as he remembered the incident, and flicked his hand dismissively. "But that was only because I resented what he had said. Of course I did not mean it, I just…" He trailed into silence, and glanced sideways at the elder Elf. "You think it is the same here? Legolas did not mean what he…?"

"You did not hate Oropher then, and Legolas does not hate you now," Círhael said gently. "In fact, he is probably feeling awful about the whole situation. It will do you both good to speak with each other, and I think that-

"Círhael! Thranduil!"

"Elrond?"

"What is it?"

The Rivendell Lord came to a swift halt before them, and shook his head quickly. "When I had found the medicine that I wanted, I thought that I should look in on Legolas, just to make sure that he was well. But he was not in his room."

"What do you mean?" Thranduil asked sharply, getting to his feet.

"I then went to your rooms, thinking that he might have gone there. He was nowhere to be seen, but this was on your desk," Elrond said to the King, holding out a piece of dampened parchment.

"A letter," Círhael murmured. "Read it out."

Elrond nodded, and looked down at the childish scrawl and the tearstains that blotted the ink. "Very well…"

_Ada, _

_I'm going away because it will make you happy. I didn't mean what I said to you. I don't hate you, but you hate me. I'm sorry for everything that I've done, and I'll love you forever,_

_Legolas_

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Hey everyone, thanks for your reviews, they make me very happy even if I can't reply to them on here! The next chapter will be up soon!

Misto


	11. Chapter 11

Legolas pulled his cloak tighter around his body, keeping his eyes lowered as he wandered up another seemingly endless path overgrown with all sorts of dark foliage. He had been in the forest for nearly an hour now, and he was beginning to wish – though he would not admit it – that he had stayed in the confines of the palace. At least there he would be safe from the dangers that he could face in the great forest.

"And at least I would be able to see properly," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

The darkness pressed in on him from all sides, and although at times he was able to escape into an area where the moon shone through a gap in the trees, for the most part he was stifled by the oppressive blackness. It was a good thing that he had grown out of his fear of the dark a few months ago, otherwise he would stand very little chance on his own out here.

But one question was ever present in his mind, no matter how far away he tried to push it. Exactly what chance did he have? He wanted to get as far away from Mirkwood as possible, but first of all he faced the obstacle of escaping from the forest. How would he be able to do that? It could take days, maybe a week. Even his Elvish vision was slighted by darkness, his fear conceived thoughts that were not rational, and he was quite sure that the food he had taken from the kitchens would be swift to run out.

With a deep sigh, the little Prince sat on the leafy floor, resting his back against an old oak tree. In his hands, he played absent-mindedly with the small pack that he had brought along for the journey; and he debated what to do. He was hungry. After all, he had not eaten since yesterday's evening meal. All he had on him was a loaf of bread and two apples. It wasn't very much.

"Silly. You should've brought more," Legolas chided himself aloud. But then he sighed, and shook his head. "I can't go back, though. I have to keep on going. I think that…yes, maybe if I don't eat anything until I feel _very_ hungry, it might last me. Maybe. I hope so."

And not only was he hungry, but he was tired too, so tired. He wondered if perhaps it would be too dangerous to sleep, for although he had never lain eyes on the dangers of his home, he knew of them only too well. And waking up to find a dirty great spider hanging over him was not the most pleasant of thoughts. However, he was a wood-elf. Surely the trees would protect him?

The Elfling got to his feet, and touched a hand to the trunk of the oak. "Excuse me, but I was wondering if-

He got no further. The tree flailed its branches, and one of them swung down to smack him sharply across the face. The force of the blow sent him sprawling onto the leafy forest floor, and as he landed awkwardly, he looked up with tears of pain in his eyes. A trickle of blood ran down his left cheek, warm against his cold skin.

"I don't want to hurt you, please don't be afraid," he said desperately. "I only-

From the cluster of closely packed leaves, a dark and winged…something flew out with a piercing shriek. Later on, Legolas wondered whether it was a bat or some sort of bird, but as its wings swept across the top of his head, the thought did not even enter his mind. With a cry of terror, he leapt to his feet and ran through the trees, away from the flying creature and the angry oak.

His pack he left behind, but at that moment he did not care. All he wanted was to get away, to find safety somewhere…anywhere. And as he ran, a feeling entered his heart, a feeling that he did not want: he missed Thranduil. He missed his uncle and the familiar faces of advisors and servants, but more than anything, he wanted to see his father.

"Don't think about it," he whispered. "Ada doesn't miss you. If he did he would come looking for you. Just try and forget about him, just…"

But he could not. Telling himself to forget was easy, but actually doing it was impossible. How could he forget the strong arms that had once enveloped him in warm embraces; the steely eyes that softened if they met his own; the gentle hands that had so tenderly smoothed his hair; and-

"Ada!" Legolas cried. Tears blurred his vision, and as he ran, he tripped over a tree root sticking up from the ground. He fell, but he did not get up again. Instead, he curled in on himself, and overcome with grief, he sobbed. He sobbed for the father that he had lost, the father that he would never again see. And there he lay, until darkness took him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_The infant Prince of Mirkwood buried his face deep into his pillows and closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the suffocating feeling that the darkness of his room brought about. Tonight was very special – apparently – for it was the first night that he would spend sleeping by himself and without even a lamp for comfort. _

_Everyone had been so proud when he had finally announced that he was ready to sleep like a grown Elf, and they all had faith that he would be able to do it. Now he was unsure, though. The dark was…well, dark, and all he wanted was a lamp. But lighting it would involve looking up into the blackness, and that he was reluctant to do. _

"_Want light," he whispered. "Want to be safe."_

"_Legolas?"_

_The Prince opened his eyes, but kept his face buried in the pillows. "Is that you, Ada?"_

_Thranduil smiled as he pushed himself away from the doorframe, and went forwards to his son's bed. "Of course it is. Why do you hide your face, tithen-las? Is all well?"_

"_No," Legolas muttered. "Dark."_

"_But the dark will not hurt you. And besides, I thought you said that you were old enough to sleep alone and without a light," Thranduil replied. "What changed?"_

"_My mind."_

_The Elven-king sat on the bed, and pulled the Elfling out from under the coverlet and into his own arms. Holding his child tightly, he smiled against the golden hair, and said softly: "Then, that is well. Do you feel safer now?"_

"_Yes, because you are here," Legolas murmured, allowing himself to relax in his father's strong hold. "You keep me safe, Ada."_

"_I always will, ion-nin. I always will."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The present day Legolas moved slowly away from slumber, back into the waking world. But his eyes remained shut, they had to. He could still feel his father's arms wrapped tightly around his body, and he did not want to, he could not let that go. But what a vivid dream it must have been for him to still be able to feel…what was that?

He could hear voices, voices like he had never heard before; cruel and harsh they were, jeering at him and laughing horribly. Squeezing his eyes closed even more tightly, he turned his face away from the sounds, and as he did so, he realised with a jolt of horror that it was not strong and warm arms that held him, but large and dirty hands with sharp claws digging into his skin.

"No," he whispered. "No, what…what's happening…?"

"He's awake then?" a deep voice growled nearby.

"Course he is. Bring him over here."

As he was lifted bodily from the ground, Legolas' heart thudded painfully against his chest. He had to look, he had to find out who...no, _what_ had him. But there was no real need to open his eyes. Deep down inside, he knew. He knew exactly what had happened: he had been caught by the same foul creatures who had taken his mother away…Orcs.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The news of the young Prince's disappearance had spread like wildfire, and there was not even one Elf who did not immediately volunteer themselves to search. The numerous halls and corridors of the palace were being explored by servants, healers, minstrels, advisors – even Vehiron helped; and although he proclaimed in a loud voice that Legolas could not have gotten far, the worry on his face was poorly hidden.

The opinion had been voiced by some that perhaps it would be best to extend the search outside only if they were unsuccessful inside the palace. They claimed it would be without point to send Elves into the forest if the Prince was merely hiding in some dark room; but Thranduil and Círhael had dismissed that idea at one. And so it was that they had taken as many soldiers as could be spared out into the forest to search for their son and nephew.

The elder of the two looked around at all of the Elves spread out through the trees, and released a deep breath. "We will find him," he said softly, as though to himself. "He cannot have gone far."

"If that is so, why have we not yet found any sign of him?" Thranduil countered. He paused, and shook his head sadly. "I am sorry, that was not the right thing to say. I just…I am afraid."

"We all are. It still has not really sunk in that he is out here on his own, and…" As Círhael trailed into momentary silence, his blue eyes suddenly flashed angrily. "Damn it! How could he leave? What did he think it would achieve? I do not understand."

Thranduil winced as his brother-in-law kicked at a pile of leaves. "Nor do I. For the moment though, we just have to concentrate on finding him. We can ask the questions later."

"What have we done to deserve this?" Círhael spat, rounding on the younger Elf as his anger and fear rose. "First of all we lose Ithilwen, and now Legolas is out in this forest with no-one to protect and comfort him. What if he comes across Orcs? Or spiders? He will have no chance of-

"Don't you dare," Thranduil said in a low voice. "Don't you _dare_ say it. Just you try, and I will have you escorted back to the palace. Oh, you can look at me like that as much as you wish, but it will not change the fact that I am the King, and I have power over whether you stay or go."

Círhael tilted his had to one side, and narrowed his eyes in surprise. "Did you just…did you pull rank on me?"

"I did," Thranduil replied coolly.

Passing a hand over his eyes, the Elf-lord looked down at the ground. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "I did not mean to lose myself like that, especially before you. Valar knows you have enough to worry about."

"It matters not," Thranduil said with a faint smile, as he rested a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "Tempers are running high all around, and that does not come as a surprise. The sooner we get on and find Legolas, the better."

"You are right," Círhael sighed. "Let us continue to-

"Over here!"

Both Elves spun around to face the direction that the cry had come from, their hearts suddenly hammering painfully. They stood still, staring at the tableau before their eyes as they tried to fathom why they had been called. Elladan and Elrohir were kneeling at the bottom of an oak tree, with Elrond and a few others standing silently behind them, watching. Had Legolas been found? No, surely not. Then what could…

"What is it?" Círhael murmured.

Thranduil shook his head silently, and was still only for a moment longer before drawing in a deep breath to calm his fear. He went forwards to where the small group was gathered, and still without a word, knelt next to the twins. Elrohir stood and sadly turned away, but Elladan remained on the ground to slowly pass the Elven-king what he and his brother had found.

"It was lying abandoned just here," he said softly. "There were no footprints around it, which does not come as a surprise. But the leaves were disturbed as though…someone had run."

"That is Legolas' pack," Thranduil murmured. "Why would he leave it here yet continue onwards himself? It makes no sense."

"As I said, the leaves have been disturbed," Elladan replied. "If he thought that he was in danger, I do not believe that he would have stopped to think about taking his pack. He would have just wanted to run."

"You are right." Gazing down at his son's small pack, Thranduil exhaled slowly, and nodded once. "The search will continue. Spread out, and look for signs of potential danger that could have caused Legolas' flight. Report _anything _that you find, no matter how trivial you think it."

As the soldiers dispersed, Círhael stepped forwards and rested a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder. "At least we know that we are on the right path," he said softly. "Finding this is not necessarily a bad thing."

"Hmm. Look, you go on and I will catch up with you," Thranduil said quietly. "I want to…"

"I understand."

When he was alone, the Elven-king changed positions so that he was sitting with his back resting against the oak tree. He pulled the small travelling pack close to his chest, and gently ran his fingers over it. Every time he touched a small tear or a protruding stitch, his mind was taken back to the time of its occurrence – happier times, when there had been nothing but joy and love in the Royal Family.

"This was done by the mouse that you hid in your room," he murmured, touching a now barely visible hole. "And this…this you did when trying to see how sharp your practice arrows really were. This stain came from you tipping over your uncle's wine. And this one…"

Thranduil leaned forwards, and stared hard at the bright dot of red before his eyes. That was new, he was sure of it. It looked horribly like blood, he was sure of that also. Biting down on his lip, he lowered a hand to touch the small stain, but then he stopped, and held himself still. If it was his child's blood, he did not wish to feel it. But no, he had to. He had to know…

As his fingers gingerly brushed against the dot of red, his eyes suddenly snapped shut, and he drew in a sharp hiss of breath as his body jerked involuntarily. He could see something…no, some_one_…Legolas. The child was asleep, or so it seemed, for he lay peacefully on a bed back in the palace. But there was a flowering of crimson on his tunic, and his pale face was bruised and dirty. He could not be asleep, how could he? He must have been in pain…so much blood coated him.

And as Thranduil watched the scene play out in his mind, another Elf came into view: himself. He was leaning over Legolas' still body, his own frame shaking with a grief that could not be hidden. His face was wet with tears, and as he passed a shaking hand over his eyes, one of the silvery drops fell to land on his son's wound. The Prince did not move. But suddenly a voice, from the heavens it seemed, cried out: _Would you die for him?_

"Yes…"

As he breathed the word, Thranduil pulled his hand away from the pack, and stared at it in shock. What had happened to him? It was a vision, of sorts, a premonition that he had seen in his mind, but what did it mean? What could it possibly…? He had to know. Reaching out once more, he let his fingers rest on the red stain, but this time nothing happened. His mind remained blank.

"Valar, what happened?" he whispered. "What did-?

As something trailed across his shoulder, the Elf snapped his head around quickly. But only a limp branch hanging from the oak was to be seen. Apparently the tree wanted to converse with him. He sighed, and although he was far from in a talkative mood, turned slightly so that he would not seem unsociable or hostile. Trees could be dangerous if offended.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I was caught up in thoughts."

"There are many Elves out here tonight," the oak observed. "I did not recognise all of them. But you…I know you. You are the young King. You used to play in my branches as a little child. But you do not remember me."

"My mind is…hazy tonight, my friend," Thranduil replied quietly.

"There is no joy in your voice," the oak noted. "Are you unhappy? I also am very much without cheer tonight."

"Indeed."

"I was awoken from slumber earlier this evening by a little Elf-child…"

In his shock, Thranduil dropped his son's travelling pack, and jumped quickly to his feet. "An Elf-child?"

"A very pleasant child, I realised afterwards…"

"Which way did he go?"

"Unfortunately, one of my branches hit him. That was rather upsetting…"

"Please, where did he go?"

"And so he ran…"

The Elven-king clenched his fists tightly; and keeping his voice as level as he could, said: "That child is mine, he is my son. I am looking for him, and any help that you can give would help me."

"You will find him not to the left, as your Elf-friends have gone, but to the right," the tree answered slowly. "Haste is necessary. I hear from the birds that he is not safe."

"Hannon le, mellon-nin," Thranduil said quickly.

As he turned away he was dimly aware of the oak acknowledging his thanks, but he paid little attention to it. He had a decision to make. To his left were his soldiers and friends, and if there was a battle to be fought, they would help him win it. But to the right was his son, alone and in danger. Legolas needed him…

_Would you die for him?_

"Yes," Thranduil replied out loud. "I would."

He pulled out his twin knives; and without a backward glance, started to make his way through the dense foliage to the right, away from Círhael and Elrond, and instead, to his son.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

This was quite a short chapter in comparison to some of the others, but the next one is very long. Ok, I need your help. I'm going away on holiday for two weeks on the 18th of this month, and I'll be back on the 4th of August. Now, this is a very short story – there are only 13 chapters to it. So, do you want me to update the last two chapters before I go on holiday, or do you want me to wait until I get home? I'll do whatever you all want me to; it doesn't make any difference to me at all.

Misto

x-x

PS: Thank you, everyone, for your reviews. They all mean so much to me!


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: I am issuing a tissue warning. Tissues will more than likely be needed. I needed them to write this chapter. **

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Legolas' wrists were tied cruelly behind his back with a thick length of cord that rubbed roughly against his tender skin, making it bleed as he struggled hopelessly to free himself. But his efforts were useless against the strong constraints that bound him. And even if he had been able to escape – which deep down inside he knew was not possible – the group of eight Orcs surrounding him would have pounced immediately.

"Why won't you let me go?" the Prince asked desperately. "I am of no use to you."

"But we can find something to do with you," one of the creatures laughed, "and I'm sure it won't be pretty. Just you enjoy your freedom while you still have it, little Elf."

"This isn't freedom!" Legolas snapped. "You have me tied up and captive! How can you call it freedom?"

"Defiant little thing, isn't he?" one of the Orcs observed. "Doesn't know when to shut his mouth."

"He will have to learn."

Legolas glanced in the direction of this new speaker, and could not suppress a shiver. The sound was smooth and silky – quite unlike the harsh, grating voices of the others – and it seemed out of place in the group. The Orc that it belonged to was slightly larger than his fellows, with narrow eyes that glittered not black, but red in the darkness. A thin scar ran from his ear down to the curve of his cruel lips, and as he spoke, it moved grotesquely.

"You cannot _teach_ people to be quiet," Legolas said quietly.

The larger Orc rose, and gripped the captive's chin in one dirty hand, forcing him to look up. "Are you frightened of us?" he asked softly.

"No. I thought that I would be, but I can't be afraid when all I feel is…" The child locked his eyes onto the cold red ones above him, and shook his head. "Your kind killed my mother. I don't fear you – I _hate _you."

A murmur went through the group, and the chief Orc smiled nastily. "Brave words for such a small Elf. But I don't believe you. You _are_ afraid. The fear is coming off you in waves."

"I hate you," Legolas repeated.

"You fear us."

The young Prince was still for a moment, but then with a cry of anger he jerked his head out of the strong grip it was caught in, and spat in his captor's face. Brought up by the Royal Family of Mirkwood, he had been taught etiquette and decorum, not impropriety. But he cared not. Upon realising what had happened the Orc drew back in surprise, muttering and cursing in the Black Speech as he glared at the Elfling.

"If I feared you, I would not have done that," Legolas said quietly.

"But you will pay for it…"

The Orc pulled back his fist and curled it into a rough ball, before bringing it forwards to slam into the child's face. All around the circle, his fellows laughed and cheered as Legolas was thrown backwards to land a few feet away. Their chief was a vicious one, and it was for his violence and brutality that he had been appointed leader. They knew that the young captive would be punished. They revelled in that knowledge.

Tears had sprung to Legolas' eyes, and although he tried to blink them away, some fell from underneath his lashes. The blow from the Orc had split his lower lip, and the salty taste of warm blood in his mouth made him nauseous. His shoulder throbbed horribly, for with his hands bound, he had been unable to break his fall. Pain seared through the upper half of his body, but nonetheless, as he was advanced on by his captor, he tried to struggle back onto his feet.

"Stay where you are!" the Orc leader spat. "I have yet to teach you a lesson."

Legolas edged away slightly, and shook his head. "But you can't hurt me. You did that when you took Nana. Teach me whatever you want to. I don't care."

With a growl, the Orc snatched from the ground a studded whip that belonged to one of his comrades, and held it before the child's eyes. "Look at this," he snarled. "This is one of our more common playthings, but it is one of our most painful. Do you see the spikes embedded in the tails? This toy will make you bleed, little Elf. And you will scream. Will you scream for your 'nana', I wonder? She will not come, though, will she? No-one will."

With that final word, the whip snapped across Legolas' small chest, and a cry escaped from his lips as he felt the burning sensation of broken skin and stinging blood. Even if he had wanted to, he would not have been able to prevent himself from crying; and as he curled in on himself in an attempt to protect his body, the tears streamed down his dirtied cheeks in rivulets.

"This will teach you to disrespect me," the Orc growled, punctuating the words with lashes from the whip. A grin stretched the scar on the side of his face, and he suddenly leaned down to tangle a hand in Legolas' hair. "No screams? Only tears?"

"I won't scream," the Prince choked. "Won't…"

"Not to fear," the Orc laughed. "I have not yet finished with you."

"You are wrong! You were finished the moment your hands touched my son!"

As the surrounding Orcs growled and cursed at the newcomer, Legolas turned his head to the side, and stared through the mass of black bodies; and although he could see nothing, he smiled. He would know that voice anywhere – his father had come for him. What that meant he did not know, but there was no time to wonder about it, for his captor was suddenly dragging him backwards, whilst the other creatures rushed forwards, brandishing their weapons.

Three of them fell dead almost immediately with green feathered arrows embedded in their chests, and the Prince drew in a sharp breath as he caught sight of their killer. His abused body was almost forgotten; and in the tight grip of the Orc chieftain, he watched through stunned eyes as his father spun and parried, whirled and attacked. The Elven-king was a blur, a mere flash of silver and gold as he ducked under a scimitar, only to stab its owner through the neck upon rising.

With two of the creatures left to defeat, Thranduil showed no sign of tiring, which was not to be wondered at in such a warrior. But he was not without injury. An angry red line on his upper arm was visible through the slashed material of his tunic, and claw marks ran down the side of his cheek, vivid against the pale hue of his skin. But still he fought on, his Elven blades swinging to behead one Orc, and paralyse another.

And that was it. Seven of the creatures lay at his feet, never to rise again. The Elven-king's head was bowed as he looked down upon the fallen Orcs; but he slowly raised his eyes to stare instead through the golden hair that had come loose and now hung around his face at the chieftain. His silver eyes met red, and as they did, they narrowed coldly.

"Release my son," he said in a low voice, "and maybe…just maybe I will find it within me to spare you from the same fate as your friends."

Legolas desperately wanted to cry out to his father, but now that the stunning action was over, pain started to creep back into his body, and tears filled his eyes once more. The Orc chieftain's arm tightened around his chest, and he lowered his head to stare at the ground, horribly aware of the cold blade that was moving slowly across his torso. Was he going to die? He could not help but wonder.

"I have a blade _and _your son," the Orc snarled. "That gives me the power, not you. My hand could slip at any time, Elf, and then your little brat would be gone…dead."

Thranduil nodded calmly, though inside, his heart was racing. "You could take his life if you so desired, but you will not. Because you know that if you do, I will hunt you down, and I will torture you until you hurt as much as he does."

"The fair ones do not torture," the Orc said scornfully. "You do not have it within you."

"For our children we would do anything," Thranduil replied. "Release my son, and I will let you go free. I am giving you the chance to escape. You would be a fool not to take it."

Legolas closed his eyes as the point of the knife was pushed against his shoulder. "Ada," he whispered. "Help…"

The Elven-king dropped his own blades to the ground, and picked up a bow that had fallen from the grasp of a dead Orc. "This is not the sort of weaponry that I am used to," he said. His voice was casual, a mask for the fear that he felt inside. "However, I can use this as well as I can my own bow. Did you know that whilst training as warriors, we are taught to use the weapons of enemies? It is a skill that comes in useful. I can have an arrow strung and released in a mere second. And I will, if you do not do what I ask."

"Elves…" the Orc jeered. "You are all talk, and nothing more."

"I would not say that," Thranduil answered. He picked up a short black arrow, and notched it to the rough bowstring. "You should suggest this to your chief – learning to use the weapons of enemies. It gives you an advantage in battle if you lose your own defence, you see."

"I _am_ the chief…"

"Of seven dead Orcs?" Thranduil smiled, and looked down at the fallen beings at his feet. "So really, you are not the chief of anything at all, are you? How unfortunate."

With a snarl, the creature suddenly pushed Legolas away, and jumped forwards to the King. "Like I said, all talk! You Elves are all the same!"

"Yes, and you Orcs are all the…"Thranduil glanced quickly at his son, and his face visibly paled as he realised that the boy had not moved from where he had fallen. "Valar…"

"Falling for such a simple little trick? That is something they neglected to teach you in warrior training," the Orc laughed. "And you thought that you were winning! No, this victory is-

"Mine!" Thranduil spat. He kicked his knife up into the air, and as it began to fall again, caught it in one hand. With a hiss of anger, he spun, and hewed his opponent's head from its body.

The creature fell to the ground, but the Elf did not even notice as he jumped over it to reach his son. Eyes flashing with fear, he laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, but he felt no movement beneath him. _You should have known,_ he told himself silently. _It really was simple…and now your child is paying for what you failed to realise._

"Legolas. Legolas, can you hear me?" he said out loud, gently turning the Prince so that he could lie on his back. "Legolas…"

"Ada?" came the faint reply. "He stabbed me…the Orc stabbed me when he pushed me…I hurt…"

Thranduil winced as he started to cut away the Elfling's tunic with his knife. He could feel blood against his fingers, and knowing that it belonged to his child was just… "I know that you hurt, ion-nin," he whispered. "But you are safe now."

"You haven't called me that since before Nana went away," Legolas murmured. "I like it when you do, because it makes me feel like I'm…like I'm yours, and no-one else's. I missed being called it. I missed you."

"Hush, hush," Thranduil said softly, as the Prince made a noise of pain. "Do not strain yourself."

Legolas leaned his head back against the grass, and closed his glistening eyes. "What are you doing to me, Ada?"

"I am binding your wounds as best I can so that they can be better healed when we find Elrond and Círhael," Thranduil replied, ripping a strip of material from his own tunic as he spoke. "Forgive me, ion-nin. I have no medicine or pain-killing herbs to give you."

"You came," Legolas whispered, as though he had not heard his father's words. "You rescued me, Ada. I told myself that if you loved me you would come…and you did."

"Never doubt my love for you," Thranduil said softly. "It never wavers, no matter what you might think. It only grows."

With a shaky exhale of breath, the Prince opened his eyes and looked up. "Were the twins telling me the truth?" he asked. "They said that you were in the gardens with Uncle Círhael because you couldn't sleep. It was late, and you weren't in your rooms. Is that true?"

"It is," Thranduil answered, gently lifting the boy into a sitting position. "That was last night. Why do you ask?"

Legolas shook his head, and closed his eyes as the King's cloak was wrapped around his body. "I…I made a mistake," he whispered. "A very big mistake."

The elder Elf was silent as he wondered at this, but he said nothing of it as he lifted his son into his arms. Instead he stood; and gently turning the child's face away from the dead Orcs, said: "You are being very brave, ion-nin. I have seen veteran warriors sobbing over wounds like this."

"I hurt," Legolas murmured, as he was carried through the trees. "I hurt, but I won't cry any more. I think it is because I know that I will see Nana soon. I am going to go where she went, aren't I, Ada?"

Thranduil closed his eyes to stop them from dampening, and shook his head. "No, you are not going to go there. I am taking you back to the palace, and the healers will make you better."

"Oh."

"You do…you do want to be made well again," the King said softly. There was no answer, and he paled. "Don't you?"

"I don't…don't know."

Thranduil stopped dead in his tracks, stunned, and with a shaking hand, turned the child's face upwards. But with those last whispered words Legolas had passed into the realms of darkness, rendered unconscious by wounds that elder Elves had not survived. His eyes were closed, but the long lashes that lay against his cheeks were wet, glistening with silvery tears. Drawing in a deep breath, the Elven-king shook his head. He was _not_ going to lose his only child.

He was dimly aware of voices through the trees; most of them he recognised to be those of his friends and family – at least, what he had left of the latter. But at that moment, he found that he was unable to find it within himself to care. All he knew, all he could think was that his son, his _Elfling _son, was unsure of whether he wanted to live or die. No child should ever have such thoughts, but Legolas…Legolas did. And that hurt him in ways that he had never before known.

"Thranduil!"

The Elven-king turned his head, jerked back into reality as he saw Rivendell's Lord running towards him. "Elrond…we need to get back to the palace. Legolas needs to be healed."

"What is the extent of his injuries?" the elder Elf asked urgently, running his eyes swiftly over the Prince's still body.

"Lacerations across his chest and back, a stab wound to his shoulder," Thranduil answered. "I have bound them, but they cannot be treated out here. None of us have the correct equipment."

"No, we must return to the palace," Elrond agreed. "Come, Elladan and Elrohir brought horses. We have need of their speed now."

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With the help of the horses they reached the palace in a mere fifteen minutes – though it seemed much longer to all of them; and now Legolas was lying in bed, having his stab wound examined by Elrond. The Elf-lord was silent as he worked, looking up only occasionally to murmur soft words to his patient. But as he finished the examination, a strange shadow passed over his face, and his gray eyes darkened with a sudden sadness. Sighing, he moved away to stand at the side of the room, leaving his sons to gently administer medicine to the young Prince. As Thranduil and Círhael appeared before him, he shook his head once.

"What is it?" the King asked urgently. "Tell us…"

Elrond turned away from his friends to stare at the opposite wall, unwilling to look into their faces. "Legolas is…the stab wound…it is not a normal stab wound, which is why he feels only a small amount of pain. I have seen this before, but only a few times."

"Not normal?" Círhael asked softly. "What do you…?"

"The blade that inflicted this wound was poisoned," Elrond sighed. "What the right name of the substance is I do not know, but we call it Morguruthos, _black death_, because what it does is…it may be almost painless, but it is fast working and fatal. There is no cure."

"No cure!" Thranduil hissed. "How can there be no cure? There has to be!"

Elrond turned back to face his friends, and shook his head sadly. "If there was, I would be tending to your son now. I have come across this maybe…four times before. Each of the victims…they died."

"You have to do something," Círhael said quietly.

"With no cure, what can I do?" Elrond asked.

Thranduil shook his head angrily, and pushed the two elder Elves further back into the room so that they could speak without being overheard. "Why are you saying this? Legolas is not going to be taken by this poison."

"There is no cure," Elrond said slowly, as though explaining to a small child. "I am sorry…"

"There may not be a cure, but surely that does not immediately mean that he cannot be saved," Círhael said desperately. "I am not as skilled at healing as you are, but I have dealt with poison before. In the Second Age, Thranduil and I went wandering over Middle-Earth, searching for adventure. We found it in a band of men who attacked us. That night, I realised that one of Thranduil's wounds was poisoned. I did not know how to cure it, so I made an incision in his arm, and bled the poison out."

"And I remember seeing you do the same during the Last Alliance when you were unable to find cures for infected wounds," the Elven-king added. "As a child I ran away from my home. I had no food, so I improvised with leaves and flowers. Something I ate was poisonous, but because I could not identify it when I returned home, the healers had to flush it out of my body. And-

"I know all of this, but have you heard nothing that I have said?" Elrond interjected. "This poison is _very_ fast-moving. It is thirty minutes since it entered Legolas' body, and by now it will have spread far. If I was to bleed it out…No, I could not. I would have to take so much blood. It would kill him."

"The poison is going to kill him as it is," Thranduil said coldly.

Círhael rested a hand on his brother-in-law's arm, and shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. "There is nothing, Elrond? Nothing at all that you can…"

"I have made him as comfortable as possible, but I can do no more than that," the elder Elf-lord answered quietly. "He feels little pain, and if he…when he goes, he will go peacefully."

Thranduil turned, and watched as Legolas attempted a weak smile at something Elrohir had said. "My son is going to die," he whispered. "My son…Mandos cannot take him from me. Why would he take him?"

For once, Círhael was unable to form a reassuring sentence. He looked at Elrond, and asked the question that had to be asked: "How long?"

But there was no chance for a reply to be given. The twins, who sat quietly with their friend, suddenly leapt to their feet with identical cries of "Adar!" Elrond rushed forwards to the bed and unceremoniously pushed his sons out of the way, not even noticing in his poorly disguised panic as Elladan stumbled, and had to grab Elrohir's arm to prevent himself from falling.

Legolas turned his head to the side, and looked up in vague confusion. "Lord Elrond? Is something wrong?"

The healer touched a hand first to the child's forehead and then to his heart, before standing to face his own sons. "What was it?" he asked. "Why did you call?"

Elladan lowered his eyes to the floor, and shook his head slowly. "Forgive us, Adar. It seems as though our worry was for nothing. Only…Legolas' eyes were closed, we could see chest movement. We thought that…"

"You were right to call me," Elrond replied heavily. "I fear that there is little time left."

"What does that mean?" Elrohir whispered.

"It means that the time has come to say your goodbyes," Círhael said quietly from behind them.

The twins turned to face the Elf-lord, identical expressions of shock and disbelief appearing on their faces as he nodded once to confirm his statement. Tears pooled in Elladan's eyes, but he immediately brushed them away with the sleeve of his tunic; Elrohir was quick to follow suit. He was still for a moment, but then he turned back to the bed, and sat on its edge.

"Mellon-nin," he said softly. "I…I don't…"

"We have not known you for very long," Elladan said, as his twin struggled. "But despite that, we have had some of the best times of our lives with you. Most of those times included honey, buckets of waters, spiders…"

"And Glorfindel chasing you both through Rivendell," Legolas said quietly.

"Of course. But not all of our time spent together was devoted to playing such tricks on unfortunate Elf-lords, was it? Sometimes we would just sit and talk," Elladan continued. "It was always those moments that we enjoyed most of all."

"Me too," Legolas murmured.

Elrohir reached out, and gently touched his friend's cheek. "We have never known anyone quite like you. We probably never will. We just want to say…thank you for coming into our lives, and…"

"Are you alright?" Legolas asked softly.

"Something in my eye," Elrohir whispered back.

Withholding the sigh that he so dearly wanted to release, Elrond put a hand on both of his sons' shoulders, and gently pulled them back to stand beside him. He did not want to drag them away from their injured friend, but he knew that time was not on their side. He would not have Legolas go without having a last moment with his uncle and father.

"Come outside with me," he murmured to the twins. "I do not want you here for this."

As Elrond and his children quietly left the room, Círhael stepped forwards and sat on the bed. Small fingers entwined in his, and he smiled vaguely. "Legolas, what have you gotten yourself into this time, then?"

"I made a very big mistake," the Prince sighed. He locked eyes with the elder Elf, and bit down on the uninjured part of his lower lip. "Are you still mad at me for trying to steal Ada's treasure?"

"No. I had forgotten about that," Círhael replied softly. "Why, do I look particularly angry?"

Legolas shook his head slowly. "No. I know that I am naughty sometimes, but I don't do it to make you mad. I don't like making _anyone_ mad, especially if it is someone that I love lots."

Círhael bit back the tears that stung his eyes, and leaned forwards to tenderly kiss his nephew's forehead. "I love you also, tithen-las," he murmured. "I love you so much."

As his uncle made to move back once more, Legolas raised a hand and gently tangled it in the fair hair that hung above his face. "Wait," he whispered. "Do you want me to say hello to Nana for you?"

"I…" Círhael hesitated for a moment, but then he smiled gently. "That would be lovely."

Thranduil stood a little way back from the bed, and as his brother-in-law rose and nodded for him to go forwards, he felt a sudden reluctance to do so. He did not want to say goodbye. How could he, to his only son? Strangely, he felt that by staying away and prolonging his final farewell to Legolas, he could also prolong the inevitable. But it was a ridiculous notion, a childish one. He kicked himself mentally, and went forwards slowly to stand by the bed.

"Ada, I'm tired," Legolas said quietly, looking up through his lashes. "I think that I want to go to sleep."

"Do you?" Thranduil answered in a soft voice. "That does not come as a surprise to me. You have had a very tiring day, ion-nin. And it is long past your bedtime."

The Prince nodded, and a ghost of a smile passed over his pale face. "You always used to let me stay up late when I had been good. And then when I started to yawn, you would carry me to my room and tuck the bed sheets around me so that I was comfortable. That was always my favourite part about going to bed."

Thranduil nodded as he sat on the edge of his son's bed. "Mine too," he murmured.

"Ada, can you help me?" Legolas asked. "I want to sit up for a little bit."

"Careful, let me," the King said quickly. He leaned forwards, and being as gentle as he could, lifted the child so that he was sitting. "There. Does that feel better?"

"Yes. Don't move."

As Thranduil stopped himself from drawing back, Legolas outstretched both arms, wincing slightly at the pressure on his injured shoulder. But he ignored it. He had to, if he wanted to finally get what he had been missing for so many long days. He leaned forwards slowly; and drawing in a deep breath, wrapped both arms around his father's neck.

"Ai Legolas," Thranduil breathed. "Ion-nin…"

"Just hold me," the Prince whispered. "Hold me like you used to."

The Elven-king closed his eyes tightly as he ran a hand gently through his son's golden hair. He could not believe this. How could he possibly believe that a poison both incurable and unstoppable was racing through the small body pressed against his own, when other than tiredness and small amounts of pain, Legolas appeared to be well enough?

'_Am I dreaming this?' _he asked himself silently. _'I must be, because surely I cannot be living it? My son is not going to be taken from me. He is not…'_

"I have never seen you fight properly before," Legolas murmured into his father's shoulder. "I have seen you practicing, but…but never anything more. I would not like to do battle with you. You are very brave."

"I am not as brave as you think," Thranduil sighed.

"But you fought all of those Orcs, and you only have a few scratches from them," Legolas answered. "You are a hero. You are _my_ hero. Ada, I didn't mean what I said to you. I don't hate you, I never have. I love you, and I know now that you love me. I shouldn't have run away. It was silly of me, and I wish that I had stayed at home."

"Hush," Thranduil whispered.

"I'm sorry…"

"I know."

Legolas forced his eyes open, and smiled vaguely. "I think I want to sleep now. I am very tired."

"Then you can go to sleep," Thranduil said quietly. "Just…will you let me hold you for a little while longer? And then I promise that I will let you go. Only a minute more, ion-nin."

"Yes, a minute more," Legolas whispered.

Thranduil looked across the child's head, and his gaze met Círhael's. The elder Elf's face was pale as he watched the scene play out; but despite his pain, no tears fell. As his brother-in-law was unconsciously doing, he was making an effort to try and keep things as normal as possible for Legolas. But it was hard…so hard when all he wanted to do was break down and cry for what he was losing.

Exhaling, Thranduil leaned forwards slightly and kissed the top of his son's head, before lowering Legolas into the bed as he would a mere babe; and with a sad smile, pulling the coverlet up over the boy's chest. As he tucked the sheets around the little body, as he had always done before Ithilwen's death, he realised that the simple yet tender action had never felt more loathsome. He could not shake off the feeling that this was sealing the child's fate.

"Will you tell me a bedtime story?" Legolas' voice was barely audible as he voiced the request. "It will send me to sleep."

Thranduil's head jerked up, and he was unable to stop tears jumping to his eyes. But he forced himself to smile for the young Prince as he asked: "What sort of story would you like to hear?"

"One about you," Legolas whispered.

"About me?" Thranduil repeated. He knelt on the floor next to the bed, and took one of his son's hands in his own. "Very well, if that is what you want."

Círhael stepped forwards suddenly as he remembered the conversation that he and his nephew had had earlier that day – it seemed a lot longer back. "I promised Legolas that he could hear of the time when you shot Oropher in the foot. He has not yet heard that one."

"Is that the story you want, tithen-las?" Thranduil asked quietly.

"Yes, that one."

The Elven-king was silent for a moment, but then he nodded, and began in a soft voice: "It was the Second Age and I was only an Elfling, not much older than you are now. Like you I loved my weapons training; unlike you, I preferred blades to the bow, so I never tried to improve my skills – which were non-existent – on the latter. This did not sit well with everyone else. The other children laughed at me and called me stupid because I could not shoot correctly; the warriors hinted that I would never be one of them if blades were my only skill; and even your uncle taunted me about it…"

The gentle voice of his father washed over him, and as he listened to the story, Legolas felt his eyes beginning to close. But they had to stay open. He never fell asleep during a bedtime story, even if he was especially tired after a long day spent in lessons. But this time, as he tried to force them open once more, he failed. They continued to fall downwards. His last sight as his dimming eyes met darkness was not the face of a King or warrior, but of a father – a father who loved him.

'_I will miss the end of the story. But Ada will understand. He loves me,' _the Elfling thought vaguely, as he allowed himself to finally succumb to the seductive call of sleep.

"So one day I decided to spend all of my time practicing with my bow so that people would stop laughing at me. I practised for so long into the evening that my father got worried, and came…to…"

As the pressure on his hand relaxed, Thranduil fell silent and bowed his head. He did not even have to look to know. His son, his only child…was dead.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Well, this was the penultimate chapter. I had real trouble writing it, so I hope it was alright. Now, we all know that I can't kill Legolas. The next – and final – chapter will be up in the next few days, so you'll find out what happens then: a lot of you are keen to have the last two chapters before I go on holiday, so that's what I'm doing.

Anyway, the heat out here – yes, in England, I'm having trouble believing it myself – is overwhelming, so I really must go. Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews,

Misto

x-x


	13. Chapter 13

Tears…they fell silently, staining his cheeks as he bowed his head over the lifeless form of his son. Thranduil's body shook with a grief that he had never before known, a grief that was greater, much greater than that which he had felt even at the death of his wife. He could feel his heart breaking; and as it shattered like glass into pieces, he knew. He knew that this was the end. Without Ithilwen, he was a shadow of his former self. Without Legolas, he was nothing.

He wanted, with every fibre of his being to scream in rage and pain; to curse the Valar for taking his child; to viciously destroy everything surrounding him in the very same way that he himself was being destroyed; to find release from his pain in the sensation of his fists connecting with wood that splintered, glass that broke, material that tore under his touch made violent by grief. But he could not. He could not let go of his fallen son's hand. Small fingers lay against his own, and he found that even though he wanted to pull away to vent his anger, he was unable to.

On the other side of the bed, Círhael had turned away. Whilst saying his goodbyes, tears had stung at his eyes. But now…now there were none. With Legolas' last breath they had vanished to be replaced with a blazing storm of hate and fury. First his sister, now his nephew. The urge to leave the palace for the forest so that he could hunt down and slaughter the creatures who had done this to his family was so overwhelming that it hurt.

"They will pay," he whispered. "All of them…I will make them pay for this."

Suddenly, he spun and swept his hands across the top of a healing table that stood nearby. Phials and jars of medicine and herbs crashed to the ground, and he was dimly aware of fragmented glass embedding itself in his skin. The destruction not enough to take away his pain, the usually calm and sedate Elf-lord threw the table, and it splintered into pieces against the opposite wall.

The door flew open, and Elrond rushed into the room. His face paled as he looked towards the bed, but it was not his time to grieve for the fallen Prince – his friends needed him. He felt vaguely surprised to see that Thranduil was sitting quietly, relatively calm as he stroked Legolas' hair; and that it was instead Círhael who had no hold over his emotions. This, after all that he had been put through in the last few weeks, was clearly too much for him.

Elrond went forwards to his friend, and gently but firmly held him still. "You must stop this," he said softly. "You hurt, but this is not the way."

"He's gone," Círhael breathed. "Legolas is…"

"I know. And he would not want this," Elrond answered quietly. "It would upset him to see you like this. Come over here, sit down."

The fair haired Elf pulled away, and moved back to the wall. He slid down it until he was sitting on the floor, and shook his head slowly. "Gone…he has been taken back. Dead…"

Biting on his lower lip, Elrond glanced over at Thranduil. The Elven-king had not moved or spoken; so with a sigh, he knelt next to Círhael, and rested a hand on his arm. "You are not alone in this," he said softly. "Not alone at all."

"Do you think that that takes away the pain?"

"No, I know that it does not. But…"

As the two elder Elves spoke, Thranduil raised his head. He was only dimly aware of what was happening in the room, at that moment unable to summon the strength within him to care. Exhaling shakily he lifted a hand and passed it over his eyes, brushing away only a few of his tears. As he lowered it once more, one of the silvery drops fell, and landed noiselessly on Legolas' fatal wound. The King stared for a moment, but realisation was swift to hit: that was what he had seen in the forest. What did it mean? Elrond would know. But as he tried to turn, he felt himself being pulled back by some force that he was not in control of. He tried to resist. He tried to fight. But everything went black.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Thranduil blinked. He was no longer in the dimly lit healing rooms of the palace. He was…he did not know where. But he was kneeling as he had been back in Mirkwood, in the middle of a large white hall, a hall so bright that as he looked around, even his Elven eyes had to be shaded. Valar, it was like staring into the sun. But where was he? And how…? He blinked again, wondering vaguely if his grief was doing this to him, making him see, making him imagine the strange place. _

"_Thranduil…"_

_The King snapped his head up, stunned. He could feel the heavy pounding of his heart, and he swallowed nervously. He knew that voice: Ithilwen. But it could not be. She, like their son, was dead. He looked back down at the shining floor, and another tear – just one, this time – fell silently down his left cheek. He did not bother to brush it away. He closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. _

"_What cruel trick is this?" he murmured. _

"_This is no trick, Thranduil. You do not imagine this."_

_As he shook his head, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, loving, and like the voice, he would know it anywhere: Ithilwen. He looked up tentatively, and turned. The words that he had been about to utter fell dead on his lips, and instead he drew in a sharp breath. His wife stood before him, bathed in a brilliant white light that moved fluidly with her as she knelt in front of him. _

"_How can this be?" Thranduil breathed. He reached out, and let his fingers rest in the air beside the Queen's face, half afraid to touch the alabaster skin. "This cannot be you. It cannot…"_

"_You imagine nothing," Ithilwen repeated softly, guiding the other Elf's hand forwards to rest against her cheek. "I am here, meleth-nin. I am here with you."_

_Both were still for a moment as they stared into each other's eyes. But then in unison, as though it had been planned, they moved forwards and fell into a tight embrace that spoke only too clearly of their devotion, their love that they had lost. Thranduil buried his face against Ithilwen's shoulder, too shocked to speak. He could feel her fingers running through his hair, could feel her warm breath against his cheek…and he knew – she already knew of their son. Closing his eyes, he whispered into the material of her dress: "Legolas could not be saved."_

_Ithilwen shook her head, leaning back slightly from the embrace. "No. There is a way to save his life, to _restore _it. He could never be saved by medicine, but by something much greater."_

"_He has already gone," Thranduil said softly. "It is too late."_

"_For as long as he is loved, it is never too late," Ithilwen answered. _

_The Elven-king looked down at the ground, and shook his head slowly. "I do not understand. What do you speak of? And how are you here? Where are we?"_

"_You are in Mandos. Or rather, your soul is. Your body remains in Mirkwood." Ithilwen smiled gently as the confusion on her husband's face deepened. "Fear not, you still live. But you were summoned here by Námo, and I was sent to you as his messenger. He is the Doomsman of the Valar. Think of that, and maybe you will understand."_

"_He has the power to pronounce judgement…he decides our fates," Thranduil said slowly. "He can take and give life, so he…but he took Legolas. I do not understand."_

"_He can restore our son's life," Ithilwen said in a low voice. "But he will not do it freely. He wants something in return."_

_Thranduil leaned back, and arched an eyebrow. "Something in return? And what can _I _possibly give…to…" He trailed into silence, and as realisation fell, nodded slowly. "I see. In the forest, I had a vision. I heard something, a voice. It made no sense then, but now…"_

"_You know what has been asked of you," Ithilwen finished quietly. She leaned forwards and gently kissed her husband, before rising to her feet. A smile tugged at her lips. "Whatever your choice, I love you."_

"_Wait!" Thranduil said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "To save him, Námo wants me to die. It would be an exchange of our lives, I understand that, although I still do not understand why. I am not afraid of death, and I want to save him, I want to more than anything. But how can it be worth it now? His life would be restored, but that is all he would gain. Our son would be orphaned. I do not want that for him."_

"_Only you can decide," Ithilwen murmured. _

"_And if I go, Mirkwood will be without a King. The heir to the throne would be but a child, and unable to take up rule for years," Thranduil continued helplessly. "And Círhael…he would be named King until Legolas came of age, maybe even past that time. He would take that position, but he would not want it. How can we know that he would be able to maintain it? Ithilwen, I cannot let my father's kingdom fall. I cannot."_

"_And I cannot make the choice for you," the Queen answered softly. _

"_Valar help me," Thranduil whispered. "Help me to do this, give me the strength that I lack. I have to seal my son's fate, but…is this the right choice? Send me a sign, something to tell me…please…"_

_There was silence. The Elven-king's eyes wandered around the large hall as though searching for what he had asked, searching for help. But there was only Ithilwen, and she shook her head slowly as he tried to speak once more. Drawing in a shaky breath, he looked down at the floor. Whatever he chose to do would be wrong. As Elrond had advised him only the previous day, he had to choose the lesser of two evils. _

"_If only I could turn back time to then," he murmured. "I would change everything."_

"Will you die for him?"

_Námo…his voice thundered in the great hall, ten times magnified as it bounced heavily off the shining white walls. This was what Thranduil had heard in his vision; this was it. When he gave his answer, it would be final. There would be no going back. Closing his eyes, he rose to his feet and stood still, listening as the last echoes of the voice faded away. Silence fell. He looked up. His gaze met Ithilwen's. He shook his head, just once. _

"_No."_

………………………………………………………………………………………...

"Thranduil, can you hear me? Open your eyes, mellon-nin. Come back…"

The Elven-king jerked his head up, and his breath came in a sudden sharp gasp as his eyes flew open. He was back in Mirkwood. Círhael's strong arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and Elrond's face hovered anxiously before his own. Disregarding them, he glanced up at the bed, wondering if, hoping that something had changed. No. Legolas was still…dead. He looked back down at the ground, and shook his head slowly. Of course nothing had changed.

"What happened to you?" Círhael whispered.

"What do you mean?" Thranduil asked dully.

"You collapsed. I thought that grief was taking you from us, and…" The Elf-lord swallowed nervously as he caught the pain in his brother-in-law's eyes. "But you returned. You are well."

"I think it was just a faint," Elrond said softly.

"It was no faint." Thranduil drew his knees up to his chest and tangled his hands in his own hair. As he pulled at it, he whispered: "Im naer, ion-nin. Im naer…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Círhael murmured. "None of us could have saved him."

"I could. But I did nothing."

Elrond's brow furrowed as he heard the words. Something was wrong. He knew full well that what had happened to his friend was more than a faint. But he remained silent, watching as Círhael pulled Thranduil close. Recovered from his previous burst of anger, he was whispering words of comfort, and softly stroking the golden hair. The Rivendell Lord smiled sadly at the display. Unconsciously, Círhael was treating the younger Elf in the very same way that he once had Legolas. He had substituted his hurting brother-in-law for his fallen nephew.

'_May the Valar help you both,' Elrond thought, 'for there is no-one else who can.'_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Soft hands were tenderly stroking his hair, and he was dimly aware of a gentle voice murmuring endearments. He wanted to open his eyes, to look up and see whose arms he was held in, but he was afraid. He knew that voice, he had spent all of his life listening to it. But how could it be possible? She had gone away, and he had been told that he wouldn't see her for a very long time. Unless he was dreaming. If so, it was a very real dream. _

"_Open your eyes, pen-neth. Look at me."_

_Legolas forced one eye open, but snapped it shut again almost immediately. That had hurt. He was unsure of where he might be, but wherever it was, it was bright. He heard the one holding him let out a soft trill of laughter, and his lips formed a slight pout. It was not funny. Forewarned this time, he raised a hand to the level of his eyes so that they were shaded, and tried again. It took a few seconds for them to adjust, but when they did, he drew in a sudden sharp breath. _

"_Nana!"_

_Ithilwen gasped as the child launched himself into her arms. Pulling him close, she smiled into his hair, and murmured: "Ai Legolas, my son. I have missed this. I have missed _you._"_

"_So have I," the Prince whispered. "I have missed you so much. I have wanted to see you ever since you went away, and I wasn't even able to say goodbye to you properly. But now you're here. You're back, Nana!"_

"_I wish that I was, but…" Ithilwen turned her son's face up so that their eyes met, and she smiled briefly. "There is not much time. What do you remember?"_

_Legolas' eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, but then he nodded slowly. "Orcs. They hurt me. Ada came and rescued me. But I was bleeding a lot. And then…a bedtime story. I fell asleep in the middle of it. I fell…no, I didn't. I didn't fall asleep, did I, Nana? I came to the same place that you did. I di-_

"_Do not say it," Ithilwen cut in gently, pressing a finger against the Elfling's lips. "Yes, you came to me. We are in the Halls of Mandos."_

"_Dead Elves come here," Legolas said, his voice trembling slightly. "Nana, now that I…I'm sorry, but now that I'm here, I don't want to be. I don't want to be…dead. I want to be alive."_

"_I am very glad to hear that, because Námo does not want you here," the Queen said with a smile. "His Halls are not yet ready for you, tithen-las. Would you be disappointed if I told you that he wants you to go home?"_

"_Will you come with me?" Legolas asked quietly. _

_Ithilwen shook her head once. "I cannot. Please, do not look sad. I may not have been with you in body, but I was always with you in soul. You must remember that."_

"_I want to be with you because you're my Nana and I love you, but…" The Prince looked down, and sighed deeply. "When you went away, Ada was very upset. I think that if I left him also, he would be upset again. I don't want that, because I love him too. Do you mind that I want to go home?"_

"_No, I am happy," Ithilwen answered. "I have not been given very much time, so I must be swift. When you return home, your father will be very confused, so you have to help him. Tell him this: It matters not that his answer was 'no'. Námo was testing his love, and he was astounded by the greatness of it. He is rewarding that love with your life."_

"_I don't understand," Legolas said quietly. _

"_But your father will, and maybe he will explain it to you one day," Ithilwen replied. "Now, when you fell asleep you were badly wounded. I want you to drink this. It will heal you here."_

_Legolas took the vial that his mother held out, and sniffed the liquid in it cautiously. A smile turned his lips upwards. "It smells like…strawberries. I like strawberries."_

"_Drink it," Ithilwen pressed. She breathed a sigh of relief as the Prince obeyed. "Good boy. When you go home, you will have no physical wounds that need to be treated. You are well once more. And that means that my job is done."_

"_You are going," Legolas whispered. _

"_No, you are. Do not forget what you must tell your father," the Queen replied. With a smile, she pulled her son close again and held him tightly, breathing in his childish scent. She murmured against his hair: "Moreover, do not forget that I always love you, and am always with you."_

_Legolas kissed his mother on the cheek, his arms unconsciously tightening around her neck as he felt himself about to leave. "And I love you, Nana."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thranduil could feel a strong arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders, could hear soft words being murmured beside his ear, could feel a hand running gently through his hair. He had not been treated this way since the eve of his father's death, when he had been a young Prince shut away in a tent on the battle plain with the screams of dying warriors ringing in his ears, and only his friend and idol to give him strength. He had found little comfort in Círhael then, and he found none now. How could he, when his only child was…he did not even wish to think the word. Squeezing his already closed eyes shut even tighter to rid them of burning tears, he raised a hand to the bed, and found Legolas' once more.

All was still and silent for a moment, but then as he felt it, a slight flex of small fingers, he drew in a sharp breath and pulled away from Círhael to stare at the form of his son. The elder Elf turned also, and his pale eyes widened in both fear and shock, for what he looked upon was a spectacle that seemed otherworldly. Legolas' small body was bathed in a wash of white light; and starting from the top of his head and gradually moving all the way to the tips of his toes, a golden aurora was shining brilliantly. It could only be one thing: the restoration of his fëa. But how…

Círhael whirled to look at Elrond, his face pale. "Are you…?"

The Half-elven shook his head slowly, not once taking his eyes off the shining form of the Prince. "No, not I. Look…"

The white light had faded to a gentle glow that surrounded Legolas – it was his natural Elven light. His previously pale cheeks became rosy once more, and the colour started to return to the rest of his white skin. There was silence. Círhael and Elrond stared, waiting with bated breath as they dared to hope that the Elfling was being returned to them; Thranduil still knelt at the side of the bed, praying desperately. And then it happened, slowly: Legolas' eyes opened.

"Valar, tell me I am not dreaming," the King whispered.

The child lay still for a moment, but then he smiled, and pushed himself into a sitting position. "I have come back," he said softly. "You're not dreaming, Ada. They sent me home."

Thranduil reached out a trembling hand, and touched his son's cheek – it was indeed no dream. "But how did…? I thought that…I said…"

"You are very confused. Nana said that you would be. But please," Legolas sighed, "can you ask me questions later? I've just been brought back to life, and I was hoping that you would take me in your arms and hold me tightly instead of this, but-

As he grabbed the Elfling and pulled him close, Thranduil laughed for the first time in days. The musical sound had not been heard for so long, and Legolas smiled against his father's chest as it rang beautifully in his ears. He was back, he was home with the people that he loved. Speaking of which, he looked up at Elrond and Círhael, and laughed himself to see that they were still staring in wonder.

"You came back," Thranduil breathed. "Ai Legolas, promise me that you will never put us through this again. We thought that we had lost you, we thought that you were…"

"I know, and I never meant to scare you," the Elfling replied. "It was wrong of me to run away in the first place, and if I could change what I did, I would. I'm sorry."

"It matters not now," Thranduil said quietly. "You have been returned to me, and you are safe."

At the back of the room, Círhael shook himself out of his daze, and took a few steps forwards. "How can this be?" he whispered. "Valar, what has happened to bring you back? Why…?"

Legolas' eyes narrowed in confusion as the Elf-lord turned away. "Uncle? Aren't you pleased that I am alive?"

"Pleased?" Círhael looked down at the ground, and shook his head slowly. "Of course I am. But I cannot understand this. You died. And now here you are, right before my eyes. We were put through hell, and if my grief is playing tricks with my mind…it would be no surprise. How can I be sure that you are real, and not an image conjured by my confused mind?"

"Ada, tell him," Legolas said in a panicky whisper. "Tell him that this is really happening, and that he's not imaging it."

"Círhael, he speaks the truth. Believe what you see," Thranduil said gently. He paused, and lowered his son to the floor – though, it did not go un-noticed that he appeared reluctant to relinquish his hold on him. "And if you cannot do that, then believe what you feel."

Legolas walked forwards so that he was standing in front of his uncle, but he said nothing. The Elf-lord stared at the opposite wall for a moment, before slowly lowering his gaze. His shining blue eyes met hopeful silver ones. Still, silence reigned. With bated breath, Círhael knelt. He held out a hand that shook with fear and doubt and hope, and he hesitated for a moment, before letting his fingers move across the Elfling's soft – but very real – face.

"Valar," he breathed. "It _is_ you."

"It is," Legolas whispered back.

Letting out the breath that he had been holding, Círhael enveloped the boy in a warm embrace, closing his eyes as the tears, which had turned swiftly from tears of pain to tears of joy, threatened to spill. He buried his face against his nephew's shoulder, inhaling the childish scent that he had believed only a few minutes back, that he would never smell again. Small hands tangled in the material of his robes, and as Legolas tightened his hold, he did also.

"Remind me later on to lecture you about the dangers of running into the forest on your own," he murmured.

"I think he has more than learned his lesson," Thranduil said dryly.

"I have," Legolas replied. "I really have, but you can lecture me as many times as you want to – all of you can. I won't mind. I'm just glad to be home."

"And lucky," Círhael said. He pulled away slightly from the embrace, but did not let his nephew go. "We are all going to want an explanation at some point. You know that."

"Yes, but…" The Prince looked quickly at his father as he remembered. "Ada, Nana said that you would-

"You _did_ see your mother?" Círhael breathed.

"You will be told everything soon enough," Thranduil said. "Legolas…"

"Nana said that you would be confused, and that I must help you by giving you a message." The Elfling's lips formed a slight pout as he fought to remember what he had been told. "She said… 'It doesn't matter that you said no, because Námo was astounded by the love that he saw in your heart. He wanted to reward that love with my life'. I don't understand that, but Nana said that you would. Do you, Ada?"

Thranduil was silent for a moment, but then he nodded once, and smiled. "I understand."

"Will you tell me what it means?"

"Perhaps another day," the King said quietly.

Elrond spoke up as the Prince opened his mouth to press the subject. "Legolas, I almost forgot. Elladan and Elrohir…they do not yet know. Wait here, I will call them in."

As the Elf-lord went over to the door, Círhael looked down at his nephew, and smiled gently. "Are you well? Your wounds do not trouble you?"

"Valar, those had slipped my mind," Thranduil said. He lifted the child, and carried him back to the bed. "Lie down. You may have your life back, but are still hurt. Elrond will have to check you over when he comes back in."

"Actually, I-

"Legolas!"

The Prince blinked in surprise as two dark blurs landed on the bed before him. But a smile appeared on his face as they both pulled him into an embrace. "Elladan, Elrohir…"

"If you were not injured, so help me, I would tickle you until you begged for mercy," Elladan growled.

"But I-

"Lucky you're hurt, in a way," Elrohir smiled.

"I'm not-

"Elrond, would you mind looking over him?" Círhael asked. "Merely to make sure that all of this excitement and moving around has not done further damage to his wounds."

Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when the healer came forwards and gently removed the loose tunic that he wore. Not that anyone was listening to him anyway, but they would probably not believe him even if they were. He remained silent. At least it would be funny to see the expressions on their faces when his bandages were removed to reveal only healthy skin.

"I will have to let the kitchen staff that there is cause for celebration," Círhael said. "I think that this most definitely calls for a feast."

"You only want an excuse to watch your brother-in-law give out his best Dorwinion," Elrond murmured, as he gently unwrapped the bandages around Legolas' small torso. "You know how much he hates surrendering it, and it gives you great pleasure to watch the pain on his face as he…"

Thranduil shot Círhael a dirty look as he snickered agreement to Elrond's accusation. "What is it?"

"Nothing," the elder Elf breathed. "Nothing…"

"Adar, are you…?" Elladan's eyes widened as he looked over his father's shoulder. "Adar, there is nothing there! How did that happen?"

"What do you mean?" Círhael asked tersely. "How did _what _happen?"

Sitting on the bed, Legolas smiled as everyone crowded around to stare at his now flawless skin. "I tried to tell you, but no-one was-

"You are healed," Thranduil said quietly. "You are healed in entirety."

"Listening to me," Legolas finished.

The Elven-king let his fingers trail over his son's left shoulder, the previously injured one. His blue eyes narrowed in confusion. "And you feel nothing? Nothing at all? The poison must have been…taken from your body…somehow."

"There is no medical reason for this," Elrond said slowly. "I believe that this has a great deal to do with the events that took place during your time away from this world, does it not, Legolas?"

"Yes," the Prince nodded. "It does."

Círhael sat back in a chair, and fixed his nephew with a piercing gaze. "Explanation. Now."

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later that night – or rather, early that morning – Legolas was taken from the healing rooms and moved back into his own sleeping chambers. Before that, however, Círhael and the twins had been eager to hear a detailed explanation of that night's otherworldly events; so he had found himself being kept awake for another hour whilst Thranduil had told his part of the story, and then he himself had told his. The young Prince could read from his father's rather sketchy account that not all was being told. But he had not pressed the subject. He knew that it was not the time, and that he would be told when it was.

Now, as he lay nestled in the Elven-king's strong arms in his own room, he smiled. "Ada…"

"Legolas…"

"I'm sorry for falling asleep in the middle of your story. It wasn't _that_ dull," the Elfling replied.

Thranduil smiled, but his eyes in the light of the candles were sad. "Do not jest about what happened. Things could have turned out very differently. You must understand that we have been lucky. Not everyone who suffers this is given a second chance."

"I know that," Legolas answered. "I wasn't joking to make fun at what happened. I was joking so that I could…see you smile. And you did."

"You wanted to see me smile," Thranduil repeated.

"Yes, because you haven't done that many times since Nana died," the Prince said. "I missed it, that's all. Ada, can I…can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm."

Legolas sat up, and looked at his father through anxious eyes. "Are things going to go back to the way they were before? Between you and me…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Are you going to be the Ada who reads to me, and plays with me, and helps me with my archery, and kisses me goodnight when I go to bed?" Legolas answered softly. "Or tomorrow, will you go back to being the Ada who doesn't see me, and shuts himself away, and doesn't talk to anyone? Because I don't want the second Ada. I want the first one."

"Legolas-

"No, I have to say this," the child cut in. "I should've said it when you came into me after I cut myself. Maybe if I had, things would've been different and I wouldn't have ended up running away. I want to have the first Ada, and if I don't, I won't stay here. I will go to Rivendell with Lord Elrond and the twins."

"Is that a threat?" Thranduil asked softly.

Legolas was still for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No, it's a promise. I mean this, Ada, I really do. I wouldn't be able to bear it if you went away from me again, so I would have to go away from _you_ to stop myself from being hurt."

Thranduil put his hands on the boy's shoulders, and gripped tightly. "You are going nowhere," he said in a low voice. "You will have no need to, because I swear to you that I will fail you no more. I promise you."

"You promise me?" Legolas repeated softly. "Promise me as a King, Ada. That is the most important thing you can make a promise as, because Kings never break their word."

"I will not do that." Thranduil was silent for a moment, and he smiled vaguely as the Elfling's eyes flickered with doubt and fear. "No, I will not swear to you as a King. I will swear to you as a father. That is the most important thing to me, and at this moment, that is all I am."

Legolas moved back into the elder Elf's arms with a smile, and nodded happily. "Yes, I think I like that better." He paused, and closed his eyes for a second. "Ada, I'm tired. I think that its time for me to go to bed now."

Thranduil's eyes widened, and he stared down at his son in horror. "What?"

"I'm tired," Legolas repeated. "I want to go to sleep now."

The King shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips as he shifted positions so that the Elfling would be more comfortable. _'He is never going to be able to say that again without it invoking great fear into me,' _he thought.

"You should sleep also," Legolas murmured against his father's chest. "You are probably very tired too. But Ada, will you stay with me tonight? I don't think that I want to be alone."

"As if I would leave you," Thranduil answered softly. "Sleep, ion-nin. I will be here, should you wake."

No sooner had the little Prince's eyes drifted out of focus than the door opened noiselessly. Círhael stepped into the room, a smile gracing his features as he looked upon the scene before him. Thranduil looked up and silently pressed a finger to his lips, and the elder Elf nodded. There was no need to speak, anyway. He was perfectly content to merely stand and watch as his young nephew slept in the arms of his brother-in-law. It was a picture had been sorely missed.

Círhael took a few steps forward to the bed, his eyes not leaving Legolas' face. "How is he?" he whispered.

"Fine. He got to sleep almost immediately," Thranduil answered quietly, "as I expected. I think that he will sleep long into the morning."

"That would not surprise me. And you? Are you not going to try and find sleep also? You have been through much, you should rest," Círhael said seriously. "It would do you good."

"Maybe it would, but I promised Legolas that I would watch over him," Thranduil replied.

"I will watch over you both."

The Elven-king smiled, and reached up with his spare hand to grasp his brother-in-law's arm, as warriors often did to each other after battle. "I am not a child, Círhael. But I thank you for the offer. You are welcome to stay. I wanted to speak with you anyway."

"Oh?" Círhael pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down, moving his eyes onto Legolas' face to make sure that he did not stir. "What of?"

"I owe you some answers, especially after all that you did to help," Thranduil said. "Things have been made clear to me only in the last ten minutes, whilst sitting here and listening to my son's voice. I now understand things which had bewildered me since the day of Ithilwen's death. It makes sense."

"Tell me…"

Thranduil paused, and brushed some hair out of his sleeping child's eyes. "You asked me why, and I could not tell you. But I know the answers now. When I looked into Legolas' eyes, I saw duty – my duty as a father. I did not think that I could fulfil that role; I wondered how I could protect my young son when I had failed to protect my wife. I distanced myself from him so that the job would fall to another – you, Círhael. It was a selfish act, but an unconscious one. As the distance grew, Legolas tried to close the gap. That angered me. He was asking me to do, to _be _what I felt that I could. So I channelled that anger…"

"Towards him," Círhael said quietly.

"Yes. He was the only one who was asking the impossible; and every time he tried to engage me in conversation, every time he tried to have me treat him as I should have done, my anger grew and grew – all he was doing was reminding me that I had failed," Thranduil continued, his voice low, "because I simply could not do it. It mattered not that there was distance between us, for he continued to press, to try and cover it. That is why I locked myself away."

"You knew he could not get to you there," Círhael sighed.

"I hid myself from my own child." Thranduil smiled, but it was without humour, and his blue eyes were cold. "I was alone, but I was safe from him. Despite that, though, I hated it. I may have escaped Legolas, but I had not escaped my own mind. It told me everything that had driven me to solitude in the first place."

Círhael made a sympathetic noise as his brother-in-law fell silent. "Go on."

"You and Elrond came to me the day before yesterday, and I am thankful for that. I am thankful for the way that you pushed me and irritated me and tried to force me into giving you answers. If you had not, I would not have left, and I would not have heard Legolas' cries," Thranduil continued. "But I did. And I went to him."

"Why? What changed?" Círhael asked.

"I saw the blood, and it reminded me of Ithilwen. It was too late for her, but not for my son. I knew that I had to try and amend things before it _was_ too late," Thranduil answered. "Seeing him injured…it brought me back to reality."

"It made you realise what you could lose," Círhael said quietly. He paused, and shot his brother-in-law a sideways glance. "Thranduil, there is something that you must know, now that everything is coming into the open. Legolas' hand injury, it-

"Was not accidental." The Elven-king's face remained impassive as he unconsciously pulled his son closer, but his eyes flashed angrily. "Yes, I know. I realised a few hours back."

"You…you know?"

Thranduil gently disentangled his fingers from the sleeping Elfling's, and gestured for Círhael to come closer. "Look. There is still a faint mark on his hand. Why? Ithilwen gave him a healing drink in Mandos, and it healed every bit of him – his shoulder, his chest, his face. But this wound is still visible."

Círhael looked at the small red cut on his nephew's hand. It was nearly healed, but his Elven eyes could still see it. "You are right," he said slowly. "But how did this tell you…"

"I wondered why the drink had healed everything but this. And then I realised," Thranduil answered bitterly. "This wound had to be self-inflicted. Námo could amend everything that was a result of Legolas' foray into the forest, but not what he had done intentionally to himself."

"How does this knowledge make you feel?" Círhael asked tentatively.

"When I found out the truth, it hurt. But in hindsight, Legolas doing that to himself was, in a way, a good thing," Thranduil sighed. "If he had not, I do not think we would be sat here now."

"Hmm. And-

"Ada…"

The King looked down, and smiled as his son struggled to re-focus his eyes. "You are awake already."

"Who are you talking to?" Legolas pushed himself into a sitting position, and as he rubbed at his eyes, caught sight of Círhael. "Oh, hello. What are you doing here? It's not morning already?"

"No, you have been asleep only for a short time," the Elf-lord answered. "Forgive us, I fear that our voices woke you."

"Sleep again," Thranduil said quietly.

Legolas leaned across his father, and held out both arms to his uncle. A sleepy smile appeared as Círhael embraced him, and kissed him on the cheek. That was all he had wanted. Content, he withdrew, and settled in Thranduil's hold once more, resting his head on the King's chest. An arm slipped around his body once more, and he snuggled into the warm hold. As sleep began to take him, he was dimly aware of a soft hand stroking his hair.

Círhael locked his green eyes onto his brother-in-law's blue; and the two smiled at each other. The storm had passed. Darkness had reigned over their lives for too long, and the veil had finally been pushed back to reveal light. It was over. Círhael could feel it in his heart, could sense it in the air. But more than anything, he could see it in the love that emanated from the two Elves in front of him. That love had won the battle. It was over.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thank you to every one for reading and reviewing, it means so much to me! Some of you asked questions in your reviews, and because I can't answer them here, I'll e-mail you.

I have about six new storylines in my mind, and am currently putting two of them into writing. If you want to know what they're about, say so in your review, and I'll let you know. I can't promise when I'll start posting, but it'll probably be after summer, because that will give me time to write a lot.

Anyway, thanks again for reading!

Misto

x-x


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